


Thief's Conundrum

by Gloomier



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Actual Thief Bilbo Baggins, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Burglary, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, King Thorin, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8812282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier/pseuds/Gloomier
Summary: When the Shire totters into dire straits it falls to the honorable (and less than eager) thief Bilbo Baggins to save the day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seashadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by not only [Teaxdragon's magnificent art](http://teaxdragon.tumblr.com/post/154020787937/erebor-is-a-strange-place-and-not-always-friendly) (that you should absolutely check out) but [also by their prompt](http://teaxdragon.tumblr.com/post/154070435197/tea-blitz-actual-thief-bilbo-tho-all-the-yeses). 
> 
> This is my gift to the amazing [Seashadows](http://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows) ([tumblr](http://godihatethisfreakingcat.tumblr.com/)) for her birthday.
> 
> Massive thanks to [Vtforpedro](http://vtforpedro.tumblr.com/) and her invaluable help with the beta.
> 
> This was suppose to be a small little thing but then I kept writing. There isn't a posting timeline but I'll get them up as soon as they're written and edited/beta'd.

If you asked the inhabitants of the Shire about which family they thought to be the most respectable in the entire land, many would answer the Bagginses. A few snobbish hobbits would tell you that the Baggins family had been respectable right up until the heir of the head of the family married a strong Took-blooded lass. Now there was nothing wrong with the Took clan, as rowdy as they were, but the hobbit lass in question was a wily one; Belladonna Took was a thief and such professions were viewed with scorn. What sort of respectable hobbit would ever consider stealing from another?

Such quandaries didn’t bother Bungo Baggins, for Belladonna Took had stolen the young gentlehobbit’s heart. Despite the tongue waggling that happened in the market or during teatime, the pair were happy and happier still when little Bilbo Baggins came along.

Happiness was in abundance in the Shire, a fact that every hobbit grew up knowing, but what they could never have imagined was that their comfortable lifestyle was a finite commodity. 

Orcs and goblins were an ever present threat in the lands of Middle-Earth that were monitored very closely by elves, dwarves and men. Year after year the hobbits of the Shire were assured that they and the land they called home were safe from the increased orc and goblin activity. With their worries assuaged no one gave the threat a second thought until the creatures were crossing into their lands. 

“We were told that there was nothing to worry about. Now the brutes are in our lands, in  _ Buckland _ no less, and Theo Bolger is dead because of it!” a red faced Gorbadoc Brandybuck hollered loudly. 

Gerontius Took pinched the bridge of his nose as a deep sigh escaped his lips. “We must trust that our allies will aid us,” he offered diplomatically. 

“You cannot honestly believe we can trust the men of Bree after they let  _ savages _ cross our borders! We should not let our generosity be repaid with blood, seek help elsewhere,” Rupert Whitfoot implored earnestly.

“I understand all of you are worried, but believe me when I say that all will be fine-”

“And what if it isn’t?” Gorbadoc interrupted. “Are we going to sit by and watch another hobbit die because of your complacency? It’ll be an entire family next if we don’t do something now!” 

The room was silent, all eyes were on the Old Took as he rubbed an age-gnarled hand over his weary face. He couldn’t argue with the facts of the matter; they all were in trouble and the age old protection established by his forebears could not keep them safe any longer. “I will send missives to the elves in the Grey Havens and dwarves in Belegost. Until then we stay vigilant and adhere to a curfew.”

 

*

 

Bilbo both loved and hated taking care of the family accounts. He enjoyed working with numbers but often questioned himself when his hand cramped up after hours of scribbling on parchment. The job itself was simple and Bilbo knew his father had been perfectly capable of doing it himself. ‘ _ And who will do the accounting when I’m gone? Quills do not scribble themselves my boy,’ _ Bungo would always say. Bilbo sighed wistfully, remembering one of the few times he caught the older hobbit sneaking out of the smial to avoid helping with this or that. Now it was just Bilbo and his mother.  

The elder hobbit had only been gone for two summers, the pain of his loss long healed over, and Bilbo was still in charge of the books but with a greater sense of appreciation for the work. It was during his once a week bookkeeping that an unexpected visitor rapped on the front door. After a second round of knocking Bilbo set his quill down and stretched his arms to the ceiling, prying himself out of the desk chair to answer the door.

Bilbo opened the door midway through a third set of knocks to find his grandfather, Gerontius, as well as a dwarf standing on Bag End’s door mat.

“Bilbo, my boy! For a moment there I thought no one would be home,” The Old Took said jovially, though his dwarven companion looked disinterested; it was quite rude Bilbo thought.

“Sorry,  _ sorry. _ I wasn’t expecting visitors and Mother is having afternoon tea with Bell Gamgee down the lane. You’ll have to come around later if you want to talk to her.”

“Well then, it’s good then that I need to speak with you and not her!”

Bilbo would always remember this as the day when his life had been ruined.

“If Lobelia has been spreading more false rumors about me  _ again, _ well then you’ll be happy to know that I did none of what she’s accused me of this time!” Bilbo grumbled, stepping aside to allow his guests inside. “She left her purse at Miss Hornblower’s bakery and I missed this week’s market day.”

“How do you think her purse got there in the first place I wonder,” Gerontius chuckled, eyeing Bilbo with a knowing look as he passed, heading further into Bag End followed by his other, very dwarven, guest.

Bilbo didn’t reply as he closed the door behind them, making his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove. There were many reasons his grandfather might have had for visiting, but none of them included a dwarf. Dwarves never came to the Shire with purpose, only passed through it to get to Bree, though it was a rare occurrence and the gap between those sightings were as vast as the ocean.

Bilbo leaned against the wall, peering around the corner into the parlour while he waited for the water to boil. The dwarf in question was immaculately dressed, more so than Bilbo himself dressed for the more prestigious hobbit gatherings. Every piece of visible clothing was threaded with gold and encrusted with jewels; even their beard was covered in them right along with intricate braids and shiny beads. Bilbo hadn’t expect dwarves to wear their wealth; it was not respectable for a hobbit to flaunt themselves in front of others.

Bilbo and his mother were well off, but it bothered him that the dwarf was looking around his home with thinly veiled disgust, as though they lived in a filthy mole hill. He most certainly did not like this guest one bit and Bilbo suspected that he would be less thrilled with what they had to say. The whistling of the kettle ended further reconnaissance.

“You won’t mind if we cut right to business do you?” Bilbo questioned with stiff politeness. He  arranged his best tea set on the table along with a variety of baked goods he’d made just this morning. “I must admit, I’m awfully curious as to  _ why _ there is a dwarf in the Shire.”

Bilbo’s inquiry caused Gerontius’ amicable expression to falter. “This is Lord  Álvur, an envoy of His Majesty King  Magni of Belegost. He is here because the dwarves of the Blue Mountains have answered my request for aid.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master  Álvur . This hardly has anything to do with me, however.” Bilbo was the head of the Bagginses but issues such as invasions were to be handled between the Thain, the Master of Buckland and the Mayor of Michel Delving. They had little to do with him or any of the other family heads, or so Bilbo thought.

“Quite the contrary lad, this has everything to do with you,” the elder hobbit insisted. “The King has offered his very generous assistance if we do him a favor; this can only be done with  _ your _ help, Bilbo.”

_No. No, no, no, no!_ Unease settled uncomfortably in the pit of Bilbo’s stomach like Lobelia’s Yuletide fruit cake. “What sort of job does _His Majesty_ wish of us hobbits?” Bilbo drawled.

“The King would like us to retrieve an object that was stolen from him. It’s an heirloom that belongs to his family and it was taken to Erebor, another dwarf kingdom far to the east.”

“No,” Bilbo stated icily, narrowing his eyes at his grandfather.

Gerontius ignored the firm refusal and his stare hardened. “We don’t have a choice; the King sent a group of his finest warriors with Lord  Álvur and I’ve already agreed to his terms. You complete this task and we don’t have to worry about orcs and goblins slitting our throats in the night.”

“I am an  _ honorable _ thief, not some brigand for hire!” Bilbo shouted, jumping out of his chair. “We are hobbits; we do not do the bidding of another race because they politely order it!”

Lord Álvur had been passive through the Old Took’s explanation of the situation, sipping his tea and not bothering to engage in the conversation until this moment. The dwarf had a gleam in his eye now, one that might have sent a disgusted shiver down his spine if he weren’t so irate about being volunteered for this ridiculous mission.

“I’ve heard very flattering things about your skills, Mister Boggins,” Álvur said quietly, helping himself to a fresh cup of tea.

“Baggins,” Bilbo hissed.

“This should be an easy task for you to complete and when you succeed my King will be greatly appreciative of your service  _ and _ indebted to your people. Surely you can see the advantage in gaining a favor from a Dwarfking, Mister  _ Baggins _ _._ ”

Oh, he absolutely  _ loathed _ this dwarf and he’d be content never seeing him or another dwarf for the rest of his life! Something about this entire ordeal felt wrong, but a livid glare from Gerontius quelled his mutinous response. 

“If there is more, I’ll hear all of it before making  _ my _ decision,” Bilbo demanded tartly. 

Álvur smirked victoriously at Bilbo. “You will travel East to Erebor; an agent of mine will meet you there and fill you in on the rest of the details. You will steal back the Arkenstone and return it to its rightful owner. His Majesty expects the heirloom in his hands before the first snow of winter.”

“You can’t be serious! We’re well into Rethe and you want me to make the journey to Erebor which will take  _ months _ .  _ Then _ I must steal a gem which must be in your King’s hands before Foreyule? You must be mad!” 

“Not mad, just very motivated; we dwarves do not take kindly to thievery. Those are the terms and they are  _ not _ negotiable; your Thain has already signed the contract.” And just to add insult to injury, “His Majesty does not wish for your people to suffer, so I hope for their sake you make the right decision.” 

Álvur pushed his chair out and stood up, showing himself out, leaving the two hobbits in silence.

While his grandfather sipped at his cold tea Bilbo seethed. Dealing with intrigue between nations, stealing from one to appease the other was not what his skills were meant to be used for. His heart ached for Theo Bolger’s widow but political manipulation was not how things were handled in the Shire. 

“You should go before Mother gets back, she’s going to have a fit,” Bilbo murmured. 

If things weren’t so dire Bilbo would have laughed at the destructive force his mother became when she was angry. Belladonna passed her skills and know-how to her son the moment Bilbo began to crawl and they weren’t meant for what that awful dwarf-lord was proposing. When both their tempers were soothed and a weary Gerontius gone, Belladonna decided to play devil’s advocate, much to Bilbo’s consternation. 

_Let’s consider for a moment that the dwarf spoke true,_ she said, _if you say no then we’re all at risk._ To which Bilbo replied, _but_ _what if it’s wrong?_

As the sun set on Hobbiton Bilbo made his decision.


	2. Chapter 2

Bilbo wasn’t an inexperienced traveler. When he was much younger he often got the chance to accompany his mother on many of her adventures, in the presence of a Wizard whose name he couldn’t quite recall, garnering a lot of exasperation from his father. She imparted upon him the knowledge of the wilderness: how to start a fire should you ever lose your tinder box, all the types of plants you could safely eat or use as a remedy, and basic combat skills.

Her adventures took them to all sorts of fascinating places, which gave Bilbo the opportunity to learn other skills too. While visiting Rivendell Bilbo learned to pick pockets, navigate tricky gardens and how to speak Sindarin. In Gondor he learned to pick locks and how to disarm wire traps and pressure plates.

Belladonna had no real way of preparing Bilbo for the obstacles he would face in a dwarven city; they had never gotten around to visiting one. What she knew of dwarves could barely fill a chapter in a book, but she shared what she could.

They packed everything they could without adding the kitchen sink and a week later Bilbo departed Bree in the company of men, their trade caravan headed East.

The caravaners left him alone for the most part, engaging in conversation over meals about the current state of affairs, and what goods were currently fetching decent prices in the bigger cities. Hearing about the increased attacks on smaller settlements, out of the way of well traveled trade routes, churned Bilbo’s stomach; the Shire could end up being one of those plundered and razed towns. Thankfully the group refused to linger too long in the mountains to avoid attracting lurking goblins. Once the Misty Mountains were cleared a small group of men folk that had traveled with the caravan from Bree split off to find a better, safer life in Rohan.

Crossing the Anduin was a frightening experience. Bilbo wasn’t a very accomplished swimmer, only mastering a mediocre doggy paddle when he wasn’t having an anxiety attack over drowning. He ignored the amused looks sent his way as he clung tightly to the wagon as it was led across a shallow section of the river.

The Greenwood made up for the river crossing experience. It was the biggest forest Bilbo had ever laid his eyes on and he became more enthralled by its vibrant beauty as the group walked along the forest path. There were a few times that Bilbo had caught sight of a willowy figure in the corner of his eye-but found nothing when he turned his head to get a better look.

He certainly wasn’t enthused by the ferry ride up the Celduin; he couldn’t see why the Brandybucks were so fond of boating but the respite it offered had been quite welcome. Bilbo didn’t spare Esgaroth a second glance as they passed; it was a seedy, floating city that smelled of fish whose master was a very greedy man.

Bilbo spent one final night with the group, making camp just outside Dale and when dawn broke the next day he departed alone, crossing the last leg of his journey to the great gate flanked by two hulking dwarf-shaped monoliths in the distance.

 

*

 

Stepping into the Lonely Mountain was unlike entering Gondor and Rivendell - the kingdom of Erebor was _massive_ and there were people everywhere. Exiting the gallery only served to showcase the vastness of the mountain’s interior. The green-colored rock that made up all that he laid his eyes on, while not precisely the color of rolling green hills, reminded Bilbo of his own home. The levels seemed to go on for leagues, both upwards and downwards, and made him a bit queasy looking at the walkways with their sturdy looking guardrails. Thankfully Bilbo had to stay on the level he was on, for now, and only had to ask for directions twice.

The Red Wyrm Inn, Bilbo’s temporary home for however long it took to secure the Arkenstone, was in the commons ward, adjacent to the great market. Like many of the structures in the mountain the tavern was made of stone, only this stone was reddish with a fearsome looking red dragon cleverly painted so that patrons would enter into the maw of the beast. While the patrons of the Green Dragon wouldn’t appreciate the value of such decoration, Bilbo was charmed by it.

The interior of the inn was quiet, he had arrived in Erebor around luncheon, and only a few dwarves and one man occupied tables and bar stools. Bilbo paid them no mind and made his way toward the innkeeper wiping down mugs behind the counter to see about a room.

“Excuse me, but I’d like a room if there are any available.”

The dwarf set down the mug he was cleaning with a rag, giving Bilbo a peculiar look, his ears specifically. The rudeness of dwarves did not cease to amaze Bilbo, but he held his amiable smile in place nonetheless. “Aye, we’ve got rooms; just you then?” the dwarf rumbled.

“What? Oh! Yes just me. I’d like it for the month if that’s okay, I don’t know how long I’ll be visiting,” Bilbo babbled.

The dwarf nodded and reached for a giant tome sitting behind him on a shelf, setting it down on the counter between the two of them. The binding of the book groaned as he opened it, scribbling in the reservation. “Room and board for a month, that’ll be four silvers a night. I want half that upfront since you’re staying longer than a week.”

Bilbo’s smile melted away and he gave the innkeeper a hard stare. “That’s highway robbery if I ever heard it! This isn’t some dingy inn on the side of a road out in the middle of nowhere,” Bilbo scoffed. While he had plenty of money, Bilbo wasn’t about to let some innkeeper in a city swindle him.

“If that’s how it’s going to be then you can find another inn; like you said, we’re not in the middle of nowhere but you’re not going to find a better price,” the dwarf growled.

Bilbo had a feeling that the dwarf was right in that he’d likely not find anything cheaper so he opted for different approach. “One silver and fifteen coppers.”

“Now who’s robbing who?” the innkeeper leaned in on the countertop and sneered at Bilbo. “Three silvers and a half.”

“Two silvers and I’ll pay in full, upfront.”

The dwarf was a silent for a moment, boring holes in Bilbo’s skull until he let loose a drawn out sigh of defeat. “Fine. That’ll be sixty silver pieces then for the month, but if you stay longer than that you pay an extra silver a night,” the innkeeper groused as he scratched the numbers in the ledger. Bilbo dug four gold coins out of the inside of his jacket, unwilling to count out sixty coins, and stacked them neatly on the bar. The dwarf narrowed his eyes as he swept the coins off the counter and offered the ledger to Bilbo to sign his name.

“Your room is up the stairs, furthest door at the end of the hall to the left.”

With his room key in hand Bilbo made his way up the stairs and down the hall. He would have preferred to freshen up, spotting a small bathroom with an actual bathtub, but it was not fated to be.

_Knock knock knock._

“If you’ve come up here to bleed me for more money after we completed our transaction-” Bilbo ranted as he jerked the door open to reveal not the innkeeper, but a different dwarf with their hair styled in the strangest way; it looked quite like a star and for a moment BIlbo forgot his manners. “Who the hell are _you?_ ”

The new dwarf smirked, and Bilbo couldn’t tell if it was amusement or mischief twinkling in their eyes.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to have this conversation inside. Walls have eyes and ears you know,” the dwarf grinned.

It was definitely both and he certainly didn’t come to Erebor for a tumble.

“You’ll understand if I decline. I’m not interested, good day!” Bilbo said and closed his door, only the dwarf put his boot-clad foot in the way.

Bilbo used all the strength he could muster in an attempt to close the door but was no match for the dwarf who slipped into his room effortlessly. The intruder quickly clamped a big hand around Bilbo’s mouth the stifle irate protests about invasion of personal space.

“Now don’t be like that, Master Baggins,” the star-haired dwarf said, a little too salaciously if you asked Bilbo, catching the edge of the door with his foot to give them privacy. “I’m not here to proposition you. We’ve got a job to do but there will be plenty of time to play afterward.”

Bilbo glared as he tried to pry the dwarf’s hand off his mouth. He had the fiercest urge to give the invader a proper hobbit-style dressing down.

“Mfffm hmmm hnnn!!”

“Nori, your partner in crime, at your service and I’ll appreciate it if you don’t yell at me. We’ve got a lot to do and not nearly enough time as it is.”

Nori was going to be the bane of his existence for the duration of his stay in Erebor but the dwarf had a point. It had taken Bilbo the better part of three months to get to Erebor and in that time there was nothing he could do but wonder about the intricacies of the heist. Álvur having shared very little information was problematic.

Bilbo nodded his compliance reluctantly, releasing his tense stance and Nori removed his hand.

 

*

 

Bilbo was very focused when it came to his work. An unfocused thief was a sloppy thief and Bilbo couldn’t afford to get sloppy, especially when the stakes were so high. However, Erebor was proving to be a very big distraction as Nori gave him the _thief’s tour_. There were many streets, alleyways and nooks Bilbo needed to memorize and so many of the buildings looked the same. He relied quite a bit on recognizable nuances of the locations he worked.

Bilbo was not a dwarf and certainly wasn’t familiar with dwarves, which he explained to Nori. The dwarf _laughed_ at him (rude!) and had the audacity to call him blind until the dwarf-thief pointed at the little runes he had carved onto some of the stone buildings. Their meanings remained lost on Bilbo but he was assured they wouldn’t lead him astray.

This job would be no simple heist, the dwarf-thief explained, it would be damn near impossible to break into the vault holding the Arkenstone.

And then Nori led him down towards Erebor’s treasury.

The treasury was guarded by an aegis of massive stone double-doors and four dwarf sentries. Bilbo was taking everything in and assessing. The doors obviously weighed more than he could ever hope to move by himself but there was no way he’d ever reach them, much less attempt to move them, with four guards standing in his way.

The dwarf-thief was silent as he continued on, leading Bilbo away from the doors and sentries towards another building hewed into the stone further down the way. The new set of doors were quite smaller and, visibly, more manageable for a hobbit to open and close with the added bonus of no sentries.

“You saw the other door, yeah?” Nori murmured as he pulled Bilbo behind a nearby column. “This is the treasure house that serves almost all of the nobles in the city. No guards are posted outside because they’re all inside, and there are a lot more of them.”

“And the Arkenstone is in that building?” Bilbo grimaced. He was finally beginning to see the bigger picture and it made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Aye, that it is, but that ain’t our biggest problem. The stone we want is in the King’s vault, and it won’t be easy to get into.”

“I figured that this wouldn’t be a simple job, but it can’t be impossible.”

“That’s wishful thinking,” Nori grinned. “The entire building is crawling with guards, the place even has it’s own barracks which means that as soon as the alarm is sounded there will be guards everywhere. The King’s vault has it’s own level one floor down and that door is guarded by two of the King’s royal guard which are rotated three times a day; every day is a new roster and each dwarf is on that roster once a week.”

_Oh, what have you gotten yourself into Bilbo Baggins!_ He was starting to feel a bit lightheaded.

“Down the stairs and at the end of the corridor is the vault door. Normally I’d say it’d be easy to crack a vault door but it won’t be no normal door you’ll be dealing with. The door is made entirely of Mithril, the strongest and most valuable material in the world, and it has an eight number combination known only to the King himself. You have the honors cracking that beast.”

The distinct sour taste in his mouth was not a pleasant sign.

“I’ll be honest with you, my friend, the next part will be the worst of it and I only just learned about it yesterday,” Nori admitted soberly. “There are runes covering the inside of that vault, ceiling to floor, and they ain’t just the harmless ones I put on those buildings. These runes have power, carved into the stone by a dwarven Rune Master and they’re nasty pieces of work. I’ve had the pleasure dealing with those lovelies once before and now I’m here helping you-”

_“You_ must be joking and _I’ve_ been ignorant this whole time,” Bildo uttered weakly. “I’ve signed up for a fool’s errand that will surely get me killed. I should have said no, goodness-”

Nori offered his frazzled companion comfort, gently patting the hobbit’s back. “Buck up Baggins. I know what we’re dealing with now and I even know what some of the runes do when they’re activated.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” Bilbo scowled.

“Think of it this way: if you know how fucked you’re gonna be if you set any one of them off you’ll be more motivated to not trigger them in the first place.”

“I really don’t like you.”

“I’ll grow on you!”

“Like a weed maybe.”


	3. Chapter 3

Nori was truly the most infuriating being Bilbo ever had the displeasure to befriend but the dwarf-thief’s knowledge _and_ skills turned out to be quite invaluable, he admitted reluctantly. In the weeks following the two of them spent hours going over many crudely drawn maps of the city, drilling as much of it into Bilbo’s head as was possible. Bilbo learned that Nori’s initial explanation of the job and layout of the bank, while all true, were not as frighteningly blown out of proportion as the dwarf-thief made it out to be.

The foyer of the building was rather small, but there were always two guards stationed there; in the main area there were a total of six guards scattered around the room in advantageous positions to avoid blindspots. Four large desks were in place between the foyer and the set of doors leading to the back-end offices and the vaults, and bankers were always on duty during office hours. Bilbo thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t have to walk in through the front door; instead they’d be entering the treasure house through an annex that connected it to the treasury proper. They’d be going through the treasury, but its giant stone doors, their weight compounded with frequent patrols in the area, acted as an effective thief deterrent but Nori had another way in.

“How is a key going to get us into the treasury?” Bilbo asked bemusedly, turning the surprisingly heavy key in his palm as he examined it.

“The key belonged to the King’s grandfather and it was surprisingly easy to nick. We’re entering the treasury through the outside of the mountain; a secret entrance was cut through the rock right into the treasury during his reign and that key is going to get us in,” Nori craftily explained. “There are no guards in the entire treasury because _no one_ has ever successfully broken in. Nobody will be expecting it.”

“That’s all well and good but as you’ve explained, getting to the vault is only half the problem,” Bilbo grumbled, returning the key to Nori’s waiting hand.

“Well I’m glad you asked!” Nori crowd enthusiastically.

By some weird miracle the dwarf-thief had managed to bribe one of the royal guards expected to be on rotation, very soon in fact. Nori assured Bilbo that the other guard would be dealt with, quickly adding that no harm would come to them - they were thieves not murderers, thank you very much! The bribed guard would be on the second rotation, but it still gave them plenty of time before the next guard shift would be around; beggars couldn’t be choosers as the saying went. Bilbo had his reservations about the amount of time they actually had as the vault could not be dealt with by usual means; knocking down walls would be a poor option as triggering multiple runes was a very bad idea as a general rule, and the vault door was indestructible.

“You shouldn’t have much trouble listening for the tumblers when you’ve got the ears of an elf. Strange that, are your parents elves?” Nori smirked, tweaking one of Bilbo’s ears with mock curiosity. Bilbo simply pinched the rude dwarf as hard as he could.

“You’re very bothersome, by the way. I’ll have you know that blowing doors off their hinges is not the only way to get past them; that is not only very barbaric but extremely dangerous! So of course I can listen for the tumblers, ears bedamned!” Bilbo huffed indignantly.

“You’re very fussy for a burglar.”

“Can we _please_ continue?”

Nori thought right about now would be a good time to inform Bilbo that he would be entirely on his own once they reached the door leading down to the vault. There was some merit in only having to worry about himself but Bilbo had to be extra mindful of the runes; he would be the only set of eyes on them. The runes were non-fatal, which Bilbo was glad to hear, but it didn’t mean that they were an easy obstacle to avoid.

There were red colored runes which released a cloud of powder that irritated the eyes and lungs; purple runes turned to slippery oil; blue runes were a wire snare; gold runes activated a very elaborate grid of beams which if crossed would activate an alarm and trap anyone inside the vault, causing general chaos.

“I may be many things, untrustworthy is at the top of that list, but believe me when I say you _do not_ want to activate that gold rune,” the dwarf warned. “I don’t know what formation the beams will take, I only know that activating the one will deactivate the others but that is _not_ an invitation to hit it.”

“Hypothetically speaking… what _should_ I do if I hit one?”

Bilbo didn’t plan to hit any of the runes of course, but you could never be too careful.

_“Run._ Run as fast as you can.”

If all Nori’s careful planning went off without a hitch then no one would notice the vault had been emptied until both he and Nori were well away from Erebor.

Belladonna had often reminded Bilbo while growing up that patience and caution were a few of a thief’s greatest tools, but his patience was starting to fray. Nori and he traveled around the outside of the mountain hours before they were to begin the heist but to get to the secret door they had to climb up to its high ledge and Bilbo was less than disagreeable about the whole affair; he had the chance to pull himself together while he watched Nori have a fit about finding the blasted keyhole.

The tunnel they descended down was dark and musty not having been used in a few centuries.

They were both awestruck when the tunnel ended and the kingdom’s treasure room stretched out before them. Beautiful tapestries dangled high up against the walls; hundreds of heavy looking chests served as barriers for neatly stacked towers of gold coins; statuettes of all shapes and sizes made up of all sorts of valuable materials lined all the orderly walkways; weapons and armors that rested on mannequins and weapon racks were so well polished they sparkled. Nori eyed the bins filled to the brim with gems with burgeoning excitement but sadly they weren’t here for a king’s ransom.

Locating the door to the counting room and slipping in was painless, no guards and simple locks. Carefully Nori and Bilbo slipped out of the counting room and into a short corridor, quietly making their way to the end of it. Nori checked the corner before leading them both down a more lengthy corridor to where the door they wanted was situated; the royal guard who were meant to be watching the door were nowhere to be seen - so far so good.

“Now the fun part,” Nori breathed quietly as he turned to Bilbo. “I know you can do this, but if something _does_ go wrong down there… Just don’t trigger the runes. Good luck!”

Bilbo nodded mechanically and the dwarf-thief left him to zip back down the hall from where they’d came from. Turning his attention to the door and the obstacles that lay ahead, Bilbo twisted the knob of the door and entered; he descended two flights of stairs to another short, dimly lit hall. The vault door was big and shimmered under the light of  a single, nearby brazier; there were two knobs decorated with black tick marks and dwarf runes - they signified numbers according to Nori who also reassured him that there were no tricks to opening the door.

Bilbo got to work.

He had no way of knowing how long it took to deal with the first set of tumblers, longer than he would have liked, but as soon as the last tumbler clicked, Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief, and opened the door wide… Only to take a deep, sobering breath walking into the vault itself.

The traps guarding the treasures of men were simple, child’s play really. What men lacked in creativity the elves made up with their clever garden labyrinths and well hidden pitfalls. The ingenuity of dwarves however fell into a whole league of its own.

There were runes of every color, covering every inch of the floor, walls and ceiling. In the center of the room a pedestal stood; on top of it rested a little stand holding an opalescent gem about the size of his fist that gave off its own ethereal light. It reminded Bilbo of the gems the elves wore as jewelry, but this particular gem was magnificent.

Bilbo gathered his fraying courage and began his journey across the room.

There was very little room for him to maneuver; the interval between runes was so small that Bilbo could only walk standing on his tiptoes, he learned, after nearly triggering a couple runes. Taking another step forward Bilbo yelped an obscenity and his arms pinwheeled as he tried to recover his lost balance, just enough to avoid stomping on an oil slick rune. He was in way over his head; he knew it the moment he looked that dwarf-lord in the eye and saw the unmistakable, shudder-inducing gleam of opportunity yet he still agreed. If he somehow managed to pull this off, jewel in hand, well another poor sod (not him) could deal with the next Shire crisis.

Bilbo cursed again - one of his furred hobbit feet nearly clipped a rune as he tried to avoid another; he knew better than to distract himself. In the time it took for Bilbo’s heart to beat once, the entire chamber brightened with the light of hundreds of gold beams that crisscrossed the entire space.

Bilbo had triggered the beam rune defense which he had been explicitly warned not to trigger.

_“Damn.”_

The beams formed geometrical shapes that looked a lot like the designs on dwarven clothes; he’d think them beautiful if they weren’t a problem. There was very little room for Bilbo to move without coming close to a beam, but there was just enough, with his size (after a few months of cross-country travel), to squeeze by.

“It’s a good thing I don’t have to worry about the other runes,” Bilbo grumbled.

Bilbo honestly preferred having to only deal with the beams, they were less problematic than having to worry about the other three traps simultaneously. Hobbits were plump but it didn’t mean they weren’t active or lacked flexibility; young hobbits grew up wiggling under, over and through fences. He only hoped that he had enough time; the beams forced him to zig and zag across the room as a result of the assorted shapes they formed.

As Bilbo went to duck beneath another beam, wobbling a bit trying to straddle another, the loose end of his jacket nearly intercepted a beam, forcing him to stand on one leg; he inhaled sharply as the leg began to wobble rebelliously. After a few precarious moments of trying to keep himself upright, without flailing his arms wildly, he found his balance.

He exhaled a shuddering breath, slowly grasping the lapels of his jacket and wrapping it tighter around his body; he safely cleared the beams, leaving only a few more left. In his new safe spot he took a moment to rest and to better secure his loose clothing by tucking the jacket into his trousers.

The last section of beams surrounding the pedestal had looked awkward from further away, but as he crept closer he discovered that they weren’t at all difficult to get past.

And then _finally,_ he had made it; the Arkenstone was before him, waiting to be picked up but not before the hobbit-thief remembered to check for traps. Finding no traps, or runes, _thank_ Eru, Bilbo reached up and wrapped his fingers around the exquisite gem, carefully lifting it out of the stand.

He cradled it gently between his palms, watching with delight as it twinkled; he’d truly never seen a more beautiful treasure in his entire life.

Bilbo, so mesmerized by the empyreal jewel, took a single step backward.

The earth began to shake violently under his feet; his eardrums quivered and threatened to rupture under the strain of echoing, colossal alarm bells.


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo became frantic; he could barely hear himself think as the tolling continued and the Arkenstone made for a very poor earmuff.

When he had the gem in his hand he had forgotten about the beams and stupidly backed into one. He caught movement near the vault door, a gate was being lowered over the opening and about to trap Bilbo inside the room.

He took Nori’s advice and ran, ducking to clear the gate as he sprinted out of the vault and towards the stairs, taking them two by two. The door at the top of the landing was still opened from when he had first entered, but the dwarf-thief was correct in saying that setting off the alarm would cause general chaos. There were quite a few dwarves running about up ahead where the corridors intersected, the very same intersection he and Nori had come from; he wouldn’t be able to get out the way he got in.

Bilbo only assumed the reason that no one had come down this way just yet was because it was someone else’s responsibility-which was all well and good. He pulled his jacket out of his trousers and straightened his clothes, shoving the Arkenstone into one of the pockets cleverly sewn on the inside of his jacket; now he just needed to find another way out of the danger zone.

As luck would have it, whether it was because at the time it wasn’t pertinent knowledge or perhaps his tunnel-vision allowed him to ignore it, there was what looked like another option that he could slip into.

Bilbo counted to three and dashed down the corridor a short ways and slipped into what he assumed was another hall; he nearly tripped on the first of a flight of stairs going upward. He had little choice so he followed them up a level to another hall lined with doorways, all closed, on both sides. The level below was plain, very utilitarian, in comparison to the new level. A never-ending mountainous landscape and endless blue skies decorated the intervals between doors; the floor was black, marble perhaps, polished to a shine. Tentatively Bilbo took the last few steps up, wandering at a slow pace down the hall. He wondered if anyone were behind those doors with the bells still ringing - their sound seemed the permeate solid stone no matter where he was.

Walking along the way Bilbo could make out another intersection of halls; there were more halls in this place than Bag End! As he approached the intersection a door opened, then closed, and two sets of boot-clad feet clicked against the marble, hurrying down the right-hand corridor toward the intersection.

Bilbo plastered his back to the wall and chanted _‘not this way’_ in his head, ready to book it should anyone look in his direction.

Two dwarves, one brunette and one blonde, crossed swiftly from the one hall to the other without so much as a glance left or right. When the clicking of their boots grew distant Bilbo counted to thirty, listening intently for more boots hitting the floor before creeping to the corner to peer around it; deeming it safe, he zipped down the hall to the door at the end.

Bilbo reached for the knob and stopped.

He was placing a lot of faith in opening this one door, hoping that it would guide him to safety. He cautiously pressed his ear to it, listening for any sound that may indicate what might be waiting for him beyond the door. There was no sound, not even the striking of bells now; he could only hear his fatigued panting and the ringing in his ears.

“Hey!” someone yelled from behind him.

Bilbo sprung away from the door, eyes wide and terrified, looking back down the hall; one of the two dwarves, the brunette one, that had passed by the intersection not a moment before was barreling down the same hall _towards_ him.

Bilbo threw the door open and dashed out, nearly colliding into a wall, not anticipating the sharp turn and another set of stairs. He climbed them with both his hands and legs, taking the stairs so fast and in such a panicked state, it was making him clumsy. The stairs led him out onto a broad walkway overlooking the the section of Erebor where the treasury was-where he and Nori first checked out the treasure house.

He had made it out but he was still being chased and wasn’t going to wait around to get caught. If he didn’t find a place to lay low soon his lungs were going to shrivel up; he could already feel his legs beginning to turn into wet noodles. Perhaps he was just a mite out of shape; he hadn’t sprinted like this in a very long time.

Bilbo followed the walkway, gaining confidence in his escape the further he seemed to run and oblivious to his pursuer, who had covered quite the distance when Bilbo had stopped.

Then Bilbo was tumbling to the ground, his full weight falling on the gem nestled in his jacket. The pain-fueled filth spewing out of his mouth could resurrect Bungo Baggins and still be sufficient enough to rouse the rest of the Baggins family ancestry.

“Gotcha!” the brunette dwarf crowed victoriously, pulling himself off Bilbo.

Bilbo wanted to wail; his belly was throbbing painfully where he had landed on the Arkenstone and may have even gotten a rib knowing his luck. He picked himself up off the ground, wheezing and groaning as he went, only realizing just then that he may have damaged the stone with the fall. He quickly pulled himself to his wobbly feet, definitely noodle-legged now, and reached into his jacket, pulling the gem out to inspect it.

“Hey! That doesn’t belong to you!” the dwarf squawked and grabbed at Bilbo roughly, twisting the red cloth of the hobbit’s jacket in his big hand, and spun him around.

Bilbo had had about enough of _dwarves;_ as his attacker turned him around he promptly aimed his shin at the dwarf’s groin, hitting him directly in the plums. The effect was immediate, his attacker’s grip slackened and he crumpled to the ground, curling in on himself. The miserable sounds the dwarf was making _almost_ made Bilbo want to regret the action; instead he put the Arkenstone back in his secret pocket and jogged away.

 

*

 

After he had been tackled by one pursuer Bilbo didn’t take any chances accruing more.

There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that there would likely be more looking for him; he only hoped that the dwarf who tackled him hadn’t gotten a good look at him. It was slow going returning to the Red Wyrm, taking as many detours as he had, and it was incredibly late by the time he had finally slipped into the door; the tavern was blessedly empty save for the innkeeper.

Bilbo was starving and absolutely exhausted, so exhausted that he swore could hear his muscle screaming in agony and the bathtub calling his name. Taking them as the signs they were, he grabbed a late supper and stole away to his room.

This was the one journey that seemed awfully intent to peel away all the things that made him a respectable hobbit, thief he may be, but he still managed to cringe inwardly as he ate his meal while soaking in the warmth of his bath water. It was unfortunate that the bathwater couldn’t soothe his hurt pride as well as his physical hurts.

Bilbo was so concerned with the integrity of Nori’s planning that he didn’t spare a thought to himself. He would have to lay low for a couple days as it wouldn’t be safe to try and leave Erebor with the stone; the extra silver piece would be worth the shred of blissful ignorance the room offered. It wouldn’t be safe to travel with others either, as close as Dale and Esgaroth were to Erebor; he would have to push hard to get home before the first snow with all the delays.

These were all thoughts for the morning; he was too mentally drained to handle anything more than pulling himself out of the bathtub without killing himself. Bilbo quickly dried, pulling his worn nightshirt over his head. He was ready to plunge face first into his bed and pass out immediately, but it took stubbing his little toe on his jacket to remember that the cursed stone was in its pocket.

He picked it up and dug the Arkenstone out of the inside pocket.

“You’ve gotten me into quite the pickle, you know.” Bilbo glared at the gem that mocked him with its deceptive glint. He retaliated by aggressively shoving it under his pillow.

Bilbo extinguished all the candles, crawled into his bed and pulled the blankets over his shoulders, right up to his chin. He passed out within moments of his head meeting the pillow.

Then he was back in the vault.

Bells were sounding, shaking him and the earth he stood upon; he was trapped, gate shut tight with nowhere to run. Faceless dwarves had their hands on him, barbarously jostling him to the point of screaming himself hoarse; then one of those cruel hands covered his mouth too…

“Baggins, wake the hell up!” a voice hissed followed by more harsh shaking.

“Mmmmmffff, nnnnnnmmmmiii?” Bilbo mumbled groggily but his words were muffled by the dwarf-thief’s hand over his mouth.

“Yes, it’s Nori. You have to get up now,” Nori murmured breathlessly. “I don’t know how you managed to escape but you’re in danger. Guards have been looking for you and they’ll be around soon, someone tipped them off.”

Bilbo could only guess at who it might have been, but it was a very good guess.

He pried Nori’s hand from his mouth.

“And where the hell do I go when I have this-” Bilbo quietly thundered, reaching under his pillow and pulling out the Arkenstone, shoving it under Nori’s big nose “-thrice damned stone in my possession?!”

“By Mahal’s prickly arse-whiskers, you did it,” Nori whispered with disbelief. The dwarf was as enthralled by it as Bilbo had been before it had nearly got him _captured._

“Yes, I did it, _thank you._ My heart is bursting with delight knowing that you had such _resounding_ confidence in my abilities, but I believe you just said that the guards are coming!” Bilbo commented snidely, snapping his arm back as Nori reached for the stone. “I haven’t gotten caught in my entire career as a thief and I’m not about to start now!”

Nori snapped out of his creepy, stone-induced trance and sprung to action. “There’s a window down the hall,” the dwarf explained as he tossed clothes to Bilbo, “It’s how I got in without being seen. Someone with your legendary skills should be able to climb out of a window undetected, right?”

Bilbo caught his clothes as they were thrown at him, kicking off the blankets and ignoring the insult couched in a compliment. “And then what, we skip out the front gate? You dwarves really _are_ mad!”

“That’s a matter of perspective-”

They both stilled at the disturbance, several angry Khuzdul-speaking disturbances to be precise, coming from down stairs.

“We don’t have time for this! Hide somewhere and I’ll find you,” Nori promised in a tone that brokered no argument as he dragged Bilbo to the door.

When the dwarf-thief yanked the door open Bilbo bolted down the hall to the window. Aided by the sudden rush of adrenaline Bilbo scaled down the wall to the narrow alleyway below; when his feet hit the dirty stone he immediately darted for the avenue… And was immediately greeted by a stonewall, or whatever equal a stonewall had, and knocked senseless causing him to fall to the ground, landing hard on his arse.

Bilbo had run right into a well-built, broad-shouldered, black-haired dwarven behemoth, and boy was this dwarf huge!

Then a friend of the wall-dwarf joined him, this one had a floofy looking mohawk and a set of axes strapped to his back.

“So this is the hobbit,” the wall uttered haughtily.

“Looks like it from what Kíli said. Hard to tell with all the brat’s bellyaching though,” mohawk-dwarf grunted.

“He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

“And you make a better wall than a dwarf,” Bilbo groaned.

He was unceremoniously picked up by the scruff of his neck by the mohawk-dwarf and placed back on his feet, though the big hand gripped the back of his neck like a vice, holding him in place.

“Hard to believe that Kíli was bested by this scrawny little thing,” mohawk-dwarf snorted.

The wall-dwarf didn’t look quite as amused, staring down his nose at Bilbo with a wicked glare fit enough to wilt flowers and perhaps even make a Bracegirdle cower. The intensity of the haughty dwarf’s stare was becoming unnerving, but at least his eyes were pretty.

“Yes well, I may be scrawny but that hardly means I am inexperienced. Perhaps Kíli just needs more training,” Bilbo chided.

“You are very brave to insult your betters, hafling,” wall-dwarf growled crossly.

“Go on then, do whatever it is you’re going to do. I’m sore, exhausted and I lack the strength to deal with anymore shenanigans, especially from dwarves who think themselves _ver_ y important indeed. I would prefer a jail cell at this point!” Bilbo ranted, offering the very self-important dwarf an icy glare of his own.

“I’m sure there are plenty of cozy cells for you to choose from, burglar,” wall-dwarf took a few steps closer, towering over Bilbo now, and smirked.

Without so much as a by your leave the rude dwarf attempted to rummage around in Bilbo’s pockets, obviously looking for the stolen gem. His hands were thankfully not bound yet, so he swatted mister self-important’s hands away.

The dwarf holding him by the neck snorted, and wall-dwarf’s expression turned quite thunderous.

_“_ Dwalin _,_ hold him.”

Dwalin’s hand slid from Bilbo’s neck to his left arm and then grabbed his right. Bilbo struggled when the very important dwarf began patting him down.

“A civilized person might have asked nicely before resorting to manhandling!” Bilbo said, yelping as the dwarf patted harshly across his gem-inflicted bruise.

“A civilized person would not dare steal from a King in his own kingdom,” mister important retorted coolly, liberating the Arkenstone from the inside of Bilbo’s jacket. “Dwalin, show my guest to a cell and make sure the accommodations are to his tastes.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo had never expected to see the inside of a jail cell; the surprises never seemed to end in Erebor.

The cell block,  _ ‘do dwarves call it a dungeon?’  _ Bilbo wondered, was dingy and a little cold. The cell across from his was empty; if there were other people here he couldn’t hear them. The pathway that divided the cells was lit with torches but wasn’t overly bright.

There were other complaints, such as that Dwalin character calling a piss bucket a fancy toilet, but for the moment Bilbo was content to lay in his uncomfortable and smelly cot to get some actual rest!

It was probably the best rest he had gotten in quite a while.

Recent events had forced him down to three meals - they were enough to sate the beast that was his stomach unless he missed one of those meals; his restful sleep had been interrupted by fierce hunger pangs.

Bilbo winced as he sat up in his cot; the bruise was in the worst possible place. He shuddered as his feet touched the gritty stone of the floor and carefully heaved himself up off the cot, wincing when the movement aggravated the injury. As he moved towards the bars of the cell he noticed a metal tray sitting on a stool that reached just past his knees; a cup of water, half a loaf of bread, just on the edge of stale, and some cheese sat on the tray.

He wasn’t going to complain about being fed; he was thankful that the food was at least edible. Bilbo picked up the tray and carefully plopped himself on the stool and munched away, chasing down the dry victuals with the water. When his meal was finished, hunger quelled for the moment, he put the tray back on the stool and returned to the cot with little else to do.

It wasn’t so much the being in a cell part that bothered Bilbo, but the unpleasantness of the monotonous waiting he was forced to endure. He was resigned to his fate, what else could he do, but there was anxiety percolating within him in about what fate the Shire would meet now that he had met his own.

There was little use in worrying about what ifs so Bilbo focused on listing all the ingredients for his parent’s favorite foods; he eventually lulled himself into an uneasy doze.

Hours later perhaps, Bilbo was awoken from his sleep by a whine and a resounding click of his cell door being shut. He groggily rolled out of his bed and stumbled onto his feet, shuffling over to the stool where he had eaten his first meal in the cell. On the tray was a bowl of what looked to be lamb stew, a chunk of bread and a mug of ale. While the ale was watered down the stew was rather good, though some extra seasoning wouldn’t have been a terrible idea; he was grateful for the warm meal anyhow. He made quick work of the stew, making sure to carefully wipe of the last dregs of broth up with his bread.

The warmth in his belly from his evening meal (he assumed) made him comfortable and drowsy; he didn’t need help falling asleep.

Bilbo was up long before the next meal came; he sat in his cot, blanket wrapped tightly around him, with his back against the wall as he stared at the fire of a torch outside the cell. A guard came along eventually carrying a tray; they unlocked Bilbo’s cell, picked up last night’s tray and deposited what looked to be a breakfast tray on the stool, leaving the way they had come.

He scooted out of the bed, blanket still on his shoulders, and headed for the stool. On the tray was a thick honeyed porridge, a cold sausage and some sort of fruit juice. He’d been in the cell for nearly a full day now, he thought as he nibbled at the sausage. He was beginning to wonder if he was meant to rot down here as punishment or if there would be some sort of trial.

When his breakfast was finished Bilbo went back to his cot and resumed what he had been doing before the food arrived, which was absolutely nothing.

It hadn’t been very long since breakfast that a few sets of booted feet were walking down towards his cell; it couldn’t have been lunch already. The mohawked dwarf from before, Dwalin, walked into view and stopped before his cell door; another guard swiftly plucked a key out of many keys on a ring and opened the cell up.

“Get up burglar, His Majesty wants to see you,” Dwalin commanded as he stepped into Bilbo’s cell, giving the hobbit a pointed look.

“Oh he would, would he? I don’t suppose he said  _ please  _ this time, did he?” Bilbo inquired as he shuffled out of his bed. He unraveled the blanket still hung around his shoulders and dropped it on the cot.

Dwalin ignored him and guided him out of the cell with a hand on his shoulder. Bilbo fell in step behind a second guard and Dwalin followed close behind. They marched him past a few more cells and into a good sized room with a large stone desk, piled neatly with documents and a few scattered quills and things Bilbo couldn’t name. Excluding the door they had entered from, there were two other doors. The dwarf he had kicked the other day, Kíli presumably, was standing outside of one them. He smiled brightly at Bilbo as though he hadn’t been kicked in the plums by him and stepped aside, letting Bilbo through.

This room was smaller with a wooden table and two chairs were situated in the middle. One of those chairs was occupied by a white-haired dwarf whose parted beard reminded him of a fluffy cloud. His Majesty, who was also in the room, was standing next to Balin and frowning majestically with his arms folded across his chest.

The room was well lit compared to a dark avenue and the King was not as enormous looking as Bilbo’s frazzled mind imagined him to be. The dwarf was indeed quite tall, likely about as tall as Dwalin; his hair was well and truly black, curling as it flowed over broad shoulders like a waterfall; his fine clothes were a pristine mishmash of blues, blacks and silvers; his beard was thick and trailed down his chest in a single braid; his eyes were a very attractive cornflower blue.

“I wondered when I’d see you again,” Bilbo greeted, just a touch sarcastically, with a smile directed at the grumpy king. He pulled out the chair right across from the cloud-bearded dwarf and took a seat.

“And  _ you _ must be the clever burglar that managed to steal the Arkenstone. I’m Balin, and I’m very curious to learn how you got your hands on that stone, Master…?”

“Baggins, Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo offered politely. It was a pleasant surprise discovering that there was at least one dwarf who had a modicum of propriety.

“Master Baggins, then. How did you manage such a feat?” Balin smiled.

Having common decency didn’t mean Bilbo was willing to cooperate with the dwarf, however.

“I walked in, grabbed the stone and walked out.”

“No one witnessed you walk in, lad,” Balin said plainly.

Bilbo arched an eyebrow. “And?”

Balin frowned, ignoring Bilbo’s evasiveness and asked another question instead. “What was your reason for stealing the Arkenstone, Master Baggins?”

The King was looking quite irritated and Bilbo hadn’t been in the room for more than five minutes; watching him work his jaw angrily was amusing. Balin might not have been phased by his tactics but he was obviously getting underneath the King’s skin.

“Well, I collect pretty stones you see. I heard many things about your Arkenstone and I just  _ had _ to add it to my collection,” Bilbo explained casually, putting on the airs of innocence.

“You wanted the Arkenstone… because you collect stones?” Balin repeated dubiously.

“Yep,  _ very _ pretty stones. Oh, the one I took, it wasn’t very important was it?” Bilbo gasped, hamming up his hurt expression. “I hope I didn’t cause any offense-”

“Enough!” the King bellowed, slamming two balled up fits down onto the surface of the table. “Who contracted you to steal the Arkenstone? Who are your accomplices?!”

_ “Thorin,”  _ Balin scolded lightly.

Bilbo dropped his charade and swept a hard stare up to meet Thorin’s. He knew he really shouldn’t be angering the one person who could easily bestow upon him a terrible punishment, but the King seemed to bring out the worst in him; he had never been this combative in the Shire.

“I was merely taking back what you had stolen to begin with.”

The speed at which Thorin’s expression turned from explosive anger to irate confusion was fascinating. “The Arkenstone belongs to Erebor-”

_ “No, _ it doesn’t,” Bilbo interrupted.

“You dare accuse me of not knowing the stone’s history?” Thorin growled menacingly, leaning over the table toward Bilbo. “My father watched his  _ own _ father,  Thrór , cradle it in his hands shortly after it was found,  _ hobbit.” _

“Or it was a very elaborate lie,” Bilbo held his ground. He crossed his arms over his chest obstinately and tipped his chin up in defiance.

“You horrible little gob-” Thorin started to growl before Balin quickly intervened: “What His Majesty means to say is that the Arkenstone has only ever known one home. The find was extensively documented and Thorin’s father can attest to its credibility.”

Bilbo’s agitation abated; Balin’s sincerity was a little sobering. He was ready to defy both of these dwarves on the simple notion that he was stealing from thieves.

_ But what if it’s wrong? _

The words he shared with his mother from many months ago reverberated in his mind and the cold, hard truth plummeted to the pit of his stomach. He could feel the awkward rush of blood coursing through his body; the thumping of his heart was both uncomfortable and loud.

He and his people had been _ used. _

“You’re not lying,” Bilbo whispered matter of factly.

Balin’s face softened and for the first time in a very long time Bilbo was afraid.

“I’ll tell you what you want to know, but in exchange, after everything is on the table, I would ask that you allow me to send a message to my people,” Bilbo pleaded unevenly.

Thorin had retracted from the table, resuming his stance of casual arrogance. “Why should I? You thought me and mine a bunch of lowly robbers. Why should I allow you to send word to your people? Who knows what you may have learned while you’ve been in Erebor.”

Bilbo tried to keep his breathing steady; he was having a difficult time trying to keep his head above his panic. “I need to tell them-they have to know that orcs and goblins are the least of their worries. I will take responsibility for what I’ve done but don’t let them suffer; don’t let another hobbit repeat my mistake.”

Bilbo’s tension was reflected in Balin’s expression, but it was a surprise to see that the King’s dour expression had softened too; it gave Bilbo hope.

“I will grant your request-” Thorin began to say as a commotion broke out in the next next room.

The door slammed opened and several roaring dwarves fell to the floor in a vicious, squirming pile, forcing Bilbo to hop out of his chair and back into the wall opposite of the door.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Thorin bellowed and everyone froze.

A dwarf at the bottom of the pile wiggled their way out from under the motionless guards; their hair was a mop of floofy hair that looked quite like a misshapen star.

“Nori! What the hell are you doing?” Bilbo squeaked.

“Thank Mahal, Bilbo-”

“Who is this? Your accomplice?” Thorin growled. “Dwalin, seize him.”

“No, please wait!” Bilbo cried, stepping toward Thorin as Dwalin grabbed Nori. “He wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to get caught like this _ -please _ Your Majesty.”

Thorin hesitated, sweeping his confused gaze down at Bilbo who clutched at his arm beseechingly. Just when Bilbo thought the King would refuse…

“Then speak your piece, my patience with this has grown thin,” Thorin commanded, turning his attention back to the dwarf-thief.

Nori shrugged off Dwalin’s hand which promptly grabbed Nori’s wrist as the dwarf-thief began digging for something stashed in his coat.  _ “Do you mind?” _

Thorin shared a look with Dwalin and he released Nori again, allowing him to pull a folded piece of a parchment from the coat; he held it out to Bilbo unsteadily.

“Bilbo, your mother is in danger,” Nori uttered gravely.


	6. Chapter 6

“My mother is _what?!”_ Bilbo exclaimed, eyes widening in disbelief.

He released his grip on Thorin and stepped forward, snatching the folded parchment out of Nori’s outreached hand. Bilbo’s hands scrambled clumsily as he tried to unfold the letter without ripping it. He skimmed over the paper quickly, becoming aggravated when he realized he couldn’t understand any of it.

“What does it say? I can’t- these are runes, Nori!” Bilbo shouted, crumpling the parchment slightly in his clenching hand.

Thorin, who had been standing near Bilbo, reached out and pinched the document between two thick fingers, gently tugging at it.  “May I?” he asked kindly.

The softness of the King’s voice, so very different from his impassioned anger, caught Bilbo off guard. Bilbo’s mouth fell slightly agape and his grip on the parchment loosened, allowing Thorin to slide it out of his fingers. The King gently smoothed out the letter and began reading; with each second that passed Thorin’s expression darkened, worrying Bilbo further.

“W-well?” the hobbit stuttered nervously, peering forlornly at the letter over the King’s big arm.

Thorin’s expression softened marginally when he tilted his head down to look at Bilbo, then hardened as his stare swept over to Nori.

“Whomever this Álvur person is, they seem to be using a Belladonna Baggins as leverage; should you refuse to complete your duty then they will hurt her. They wanted Nori to force your compliance with this knowledge,” Thorin rumbled uneasily and added, “They have also threatened to hurt a Dori and an Ori.”

Bilbo inhaled sharply and stepped away from Thorin, turning his attention on a distraught looking Nori with insurmountable confusion and betrayal.

“How long have you known about this?” Bilbo whispered numbly.

Nori’s face twisted in anguish and he raised up his arms, palms out in a placating gesture. “Bilbo, please I-”

“How _long,_ Nori?” Bilbo growled, slowly advancing on the disheveled dwarf-thief.

“Weeks, all right!” Nori faltered. “I got the letter weeks before you got to Erebor.”

Bilbo’s blood was boiling underneath his skin; he could feel the the heat of it radiating off his skin and mingling with the cooler air in the room. He was ready to let go and turn that nearly uncontrollable fury on everyone and yet… As thoroughly built up as his hatred was, it toppled over easily and left him hollow; he dropped to knees upon the stone beneath.

There was nothing he could do that anger could accomplish. Screaming at Nori wouldn’t turn back time or protect his mother. Thorin wouldn’t just let him go, not after stealing from him; nor would he allow Bilbo to take the stone.

Bilbo didn’t move a muscle when Thorin barked in quick Khuzdul, forcing the entire room into motion. Bilbo barely registered a pair of hands hooking themselves under his arms, effortlessly dragging him to his feet and leading him out of the room.

When Bilbo came back to himself, he was sitting in an armchair positioned in front of a hearth whose fire was crackling merrily.

His eyes sluggishly inspected the new surroundings. There was very little decoration, but the room still had an air of lavishness about it; the fur spread out between where he sat and the hearth was very soft Bilbo noted as he dug his toes into it; there was a good-sized table on his left, next to the armchair, with a plate of cookies and tea service; twisting in the chair to look at the rest of the room he spotted a cluttered desk pushed against a wall, two stuffed bookcases and a couple of doors that led to who knows where.

Bilbo was tempted to get out of the chair and explore a bit, but after spotting the cookies and tea he thought otherwise. The tea was cool, not that he minded as his throat was rather parched, but the cookies were absolutely divine. As he munched contentedly his mind wandered to his mother and then to Nori only to be interrupted by someone barging into the room.

The intruder stomped across the room, around the armchair and plopped themselves down on the fur in front of Bilbo.

“Hi!” Kíli greeted. A wide grin split his face and his entire body exuded glee.

“Uhh- Hello?” Bilbo greeted tentatively, cookie still held up to his mouth. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Oh no! I just wanted to get the chance to talk to you; I’m Kíli by the way.”

“O-oh. I’m Bilbo Baggins.” Bilbo was both charmed and puzzled by this dwarf. He’d met five dwarves now but Kíli was nothing like the other four. “Why would you want to talk to me? More importantly, shouldn’t you be mad that I kicked you?”

He expected Kíli to say something derisive; instead the space was filled with the dwarf’s giggles, like Bilbo had told a naughty joke. “Oh, I’m not mad at all. It was incredible! I’ve never gotten taken down like that, and by someone smaller than me. I didn’t even know hobbits were so tiny!”

Bilbo gave the befuddling dwarf a displeased look. “I’m a perfectly respectable height for a hobbit, unlike you overgrown weeds!”

Kíli laughed again, unperturbed by Bilbo’s insult. “Uncle was livid when he found out I had let you get away, I thought his face was going to stay red permanently!”

“Who is your uncle?” he asked as he nibbled on the cookie.

“Thorin.”

Bilbo promptly inhaled cookie crumbs. “The King is your uncle?” he rasped between hacking and coughing out cookie bits.

“Yep!”

“Why am I in this room and not in a cell; how the hell did I get here?” Bilbo wheezed.

“Well, after that other dwarf - Nori, right? - answered your questions you wouldn’t respond to anyone, even ended up on the ground. Thorin picked you up like a rag doll and brought you here; I think he and Balin are talking to him still.” Kíli explained.

Bilbo was absolutely mortified discovering that someone had carried him _anywhere,_ especially when that someone was a King! _Oh dear._ He was also quite angry about Nori but he hoped the dwarf would still be in one piece after such an experience, he'd like to speak to him again.

“But that doesn’t explain why I’m not being treated as a prisoner. I stole from your Uncle, I basically admitted to the crime in front of both him and Balin.”

“I’m not sure, you’ll have to ask Thorin when he comes to talk to you,” Kíli shrugged. “I’m technically not even supposed to be here but I was bored.”

“I really don't want to imagine how that conversation is going to play out, especially if he's still angry,” Bilbo admitted weakly. He had stood his ground when he first bore witness to the King’s temper, but that kind of anger directed at him for longer than a few minutes was a little frightening to think about.

“Don't worry about Uncle Thorin too much; Mum says that he's prickly on the outside and gooey inside,” Kíli giggled. He leaned forward and snagged the last cookie from the plate and took a big bite; crumbs tumbled from his mouth as he spoke. “I don't know what you heard about dwarves but we aren't cruel, _most_ of us anyway, he's well loved among both the nobles and the common folk.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Bilbo replied dryly with a touch of skepticism.

He silently mourned the last cookie, still hungry as he was; stress and anxiety only ever fueled his hunger. With a lull in their conversation Bilbo’s stomach decided to make itself known, gurgling loudly. Bilbo froze and an embarrassed blush dusted his face while Kíli grinned at him cheekily.

“That sounds like my cue to leave!” the dwarf laughed as he got to his feet, still smiling at the hobbit. “It was nice to meet you Bilbo, hopefully we’ll get more chances to talk.”

“It was good meeting you as well-”

Kíli was out of the door before Bilbo could finish saying his farewells.

He wasn’t quite sure how much longer he’d be expected to sit and wait in this room but he had a strong urge to get up and stretch. Bilbo slid out of the armchair and reached his arms up toward the ceiling, rising up on the tips of his toes until his bruise protested, forcing him to release his pose; bruise aside, he was admittedly a little achy from the uncomfortable cot.

Not ready to sit back down and wait just yet, Bilbo spotted the desk and bookshelves against the wall on his right; deciding to do a little snooping to distract himself, he toddled over to the stuffed bookcases. Both sets of shelves had tomes of varying sizes - some small and thin, others tall and thick - and in various languages ranging from Westron to Sindarin - many were, of course, in Khuzdul; the single book of elvish poetry was an intriguing find.

The desk, weathered with use and age, was obviously the most frequented spot in the entire room. There was a neat pile of official looking documents waiting to be signed; there was a messier pile of signed documents, whose signature was elegant chicken scratch (if that were even possible); a few ruined quills lay snapped in two near a stand keeping whole ones; dried ink smears decorated the visible parts of the wood.

One look at the most uncomfortable desk chair he’d ever seen had Bilbo cringing in sympathy for whomever had to bear its torment.

With his inspection of the desk and shelves complete Bilbo’s attention turned toward the two doors. The one Kíli had used was behind the chair he had occupied; he assumed it was a corridor of some sort, which meant people. The second door was opposite of the desk and seemed like the better option; he approached the door and turned the handle. The door seemed to lead into a very dark closet and the small amount of light bleeding in prevented him from getting a better view. Bilbo tentatively stepped through the door, reaching out to rest a hand on a wall to guide him further in; the deeper he went the better his eyes adjusted to the dark.

The closet was not a closet at all but a short passageway - there was a very dim sliver of light creeping in from beneath what might be another door. Reaching the other end, and after a few moments of feeling around, Bilbo twisted knob and pulled the door open, revealing a tapestry. He thought it a bit odd that a tapestry was placed here, of all things; then he saw the room behind it.

This room looked like it was well lived in. Paintings, a few trophy animal heads and several bladed weapons lined the walls; knick knacks were everywhere, on every available surface; two sofas and an armchair situated around a large square-shaped, polished-stone tea table were all positioned in front of a hearth that dominated a wall, roaring with life. Of course there were even more doors but there was plenty in this big room to hold his attention for a good while; the water clock sitting on the mantle of the big hearth was especially captivating.

He took his time with his examination, being mindful not to disturb anything, which was a chore when his fingers twitched with a thief's temptation.

The sound of someone clearing their throat broke the silence of the room, startling Bilbo. He twisted around, identifying the source of the sound to be Thorin who stood at the threshold of the sitting room.

“I did not expect to see you in here,” Thorin stated neutrally.

“Oh-um was I not suppose to be in here? I didn’t mean to cause more trouble, it’s just that, well I was curious. I apologize,” the hobbit babbled anxiously.

“You saved me some trouble actually. I wish to speak with you; my troublesome nephew even suggested a peace offering,” the King’s lips quirked upward amusedly as he stepped fully into the parlor. He uttered something in Khuzdul and a servant wheeled in a cart loaded with food and drink.

Bilbo’s stomach made its presence known again; he was thankful that Thorin wasn’t near enough to hear the pathetic sound.

“I accept your peace offering, Your Majesty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be a tad slower with the next couple updates because of holiday stuff and family visiting from out of town.


	7. Chapter 7

Thorin gestured Bilbo to one of the chairs in the parlor while the servant quickly transferred the contents from the cart to the stone table. The sumptuous spread nearly covered the expanse of the table, its delectable aromas were dizzying and Bilbo’s mouth watered hungrily. He languidly slipped onto a sofa, eyes shifting from dish to dish but never straying out of the boundaries of the table. He mindlessly took the empty plate handed to him and proceeded to pile a bit of everything onto it with swift hobbit precision. He was only slightly bothered by the fact that all the dishes had some type of meat in them and the only vegetables present on the table were in the spicy chili he just scooped into his mouth; he’d have that chili recipe, even if he had to resort to bribery to get it.

Thorin watched silently, sipping weak ale from his cup as Bilbo slowly decimated the feast. He had seen many skirmishes, even one big battle in his one-hundred and some odd years, but he’d never witnessed such annihilation before.

“Is the food to your liking?” Thorin asked, hiding his smirk in his cup.

Bilbo didn’t respond right away, licking his fingers clean of the gooey chocolate monstrosity he just inhaled only a moment before; they were clean _and_ sticky now. Only when he looked up to answer the King’s inquiry did Bilbo realize he not only destroyed a lunch likely meant for two, but he just licked his fingers clean in front of royalty.

“Oh-” Bilbo cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s a very fine meal indeed. I-uh, my manners seemed to have left me, I didn’t even save you any,” he babbled.

“It was an offering, you do not need to worry about me,” Thorin said while valiantly suppressing his amusement.

“It was still terribly rude of me not to offer,” Bilbo stated matter of factly.

“Be thankful you have not witnessed my nephews or my brother eat; I assure you I’ve seen much worse,” Thorin chuckled as he slipped into the comfy armchair. He released a contented sigh, happy to finally relax after a stressful morning and afternoon; though the evening wasn’t looking to be much better.

Bilbo smiled tentatively, not quite sure what to do yet with the cordiality that the King was showing him.

“I’ve seen plenty of messy eaters myself, Your Majesty, however manners for a hobbit are paramount you see. Why, if my mother were here-” Bilbo frowned, letting that line of conversation trail off bitterly as he was reminded of the predicament his mother was in.

“That’s partly what I would like to speak to you about,” Thorin interjected calmly, capturing Bilbo’s subdued attention. “There is little that I can do from Erebor; our alliances in that part of the world are very weak as you have probably already figured out. We will be unable to send a message.”

Bilbo became tense and his brow furrowed in confusion; Thorin had just promised him a few hours ago that he would be allowed to send a message.  “What? But you said-”

“Be at ease, Master Baggins, and let me continue,” Thorin soothed.

The hobbit nodded hesitantly and relaxed again, allowing Thorin to continue.

“We cannot risk Álvur and his King finding out about the situation here in Erebor; sending a raven or even a dwarf would put more than just your mother in grave danger. Erebor has a long standing accord with elves,” Thorin explained, albeit a little tartly. “Balin has cleverly suggested we route a message through Rivendell, on to the settlement of men near your Shire and then to the leader of your people.”

It was a very clever plan, Bilbo thought. He was a little baffled that he hadn’t thought at all about the repercussions of a letter to the Shire being intercepted by an enemy. However- “A letter won’t be enough though,” Bilbo’s said glumly.

Thorin’s expression turned grim. “It will not be enough, no. Of what we’ve learned from the other thief, if you both have not returned to Eriador before winter begins then King Magni will not be kind to your Shire.”

“Why would he do this just for a stone?” Bilbo said roughly, his voice cracking with emotion.

“It’s not for the stone itself, but for what it represents - what it used to represent,” Thorin sighed tiredly. He had hoped that the Arkenstone farce would just die away completely, but it was a King’s folly and one that would be remembered for ages to come.

“But how can a shiny stone be anything more than just that? You dwarves in your colossal mountains have jewels aplenty, what need is there for _that_ specific stone?” Bilbo fumed. After seeing with his own eyes the wealth of one dwarf kingdom he couldn’t fathom the reason for the deceit of Belegost’s King.

“The days leading up to the discovery of the Arkenstone King Thrór, my grandfather, was showing signs of an illness of the mind. Sometimes he would forget things, his behaviour toward people shifted, he was more quarrelsome and quick to anger; he had more good days than bad. When the Arkenstone was found the changes were more obvious; the shiny stone, as you called it, became a symbol for our kind. Thrór deemed the Arkenstone the King’s Jewel and convinced other dwarven kingdoms pledge their loyalty to it and by extension the stone’s master.”

“How in the world did he ever manage such a feat? Surely the other kingdoms thought better of it?” BIlbo asked, eager to learn as much as he could; the history lesson was quite intriguing.

“Thrór was a great King; he was very charismatic, cared very much for Erebor and its people. He is the reason Erebor is no longer a simple mountain city; Durin’s folk were experiencing their longest period of prosperity since Khazad-dûm,” Thorin explained. “He had the love of his people and no kingdom was willing to go to war with all the others if they stood alone in defiance - it was easy to convince all dwarves that such a precious find was a divine gift.”

Thorin was barely into his forties when it happened and he remembered it all. His heart ached watching his grandfather deteriorate; his father became increasingly strung out trying to covertly keep the kingdom together while simultaneously preventing war behind Thrór’s back.

“The power that the stone granted him began to blacken his heart, and the illness of his mind disrupted our government and unbalanced our economy. Before the Arkenstone, the bottom end of the lower classes had a solid  income; no one went hungry and everyone had a roof over their head. And afterward trade decreased; the men who tended the crops in the valley ceased when the King refused to pay them their promised wages and our closest allies - Dale and the Woodland realm - distanced themselves; all that was mined ended up in the treasury which I have no doubt that you saw with your own eyes. The lower and middle classes suffered the most; in the last years of his reign Thrór was rallying support to retake Khazad-dûm, and when the nobles began to feel the same suffering of the lower classes biting at their heels, the people rebelled.”

“I can’t imagine it ended well. What happened?”

“Erebor was out for blood and the other kingdoms were denouncing their fealty to the King’s Jewel. The masses wanted to see Thrór executed for his transgressions but it wasn’t right to blame him for all that he did while suffering from his illness; he was Erebor’s greatest king.”

“But he still had to answer for what he did, he betrayed many people and rebellions aren’t bloodless,” Bilbo pointed out smartly.

Thorin hummed in agreement. “A closed trial was held, he was deemed unfit to rule and stripped of his Kingship; Thráin-my father-was crowned King Under the Mountain. As his first proclamation, unwilling to be a kinslayer, he banished Thrór from the kingdom; he and Grandmother cleverly sought out the Elven King’s aid before the judgment was rendered.”

“And the stone?”

“The King couldn’t trust that someone wouldn’t try and misuse the stone so he had the vault and all of its security built solely for the purpose of housing the Arkenstone - he even carved the defense runes himself.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to crush the stone and get rid of the pieces? Seems like a lot of effort just for one shiny stone,” Bilbo mused. It obviously wasn’t a best kept secret if someone from another dwarf kingdom found out about it. More Importantly, if all of the kingdoms denounced the Arkenstone, how would someone else be able to misuse is?

“My father never told anyone why,” Thorin shrugged and downed the last of his ale.

“What happened to Thrór after he was banished?”

Thorin marvelled at Bilbo’s curiosity; outsiders didn’t care to learn about dwarven history which was freely shared knowledge.

“He lived out the rest of his days in the Greenwood; by the time he got the proper healing treatments, the illness of his mind progressed to a point where Thranduil could only see to his comfort during his extended stay.”

“That is a very sad story,” Bilbo sympathized, his eyes a little downcast.

“History is often unkind, but it is the duty of those living in the present to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past,” Thorin offered sagely. “Those defenses were thought to be impenetrable until very recently. There are still a few of Thrór’s old council who are alive yet and you have given them quite a shock. They want you properly punished.”

_Oh._ “You didn’t come here for the history lesson,” Bilbo stated meekly. He curled his hands nervously into the legs of his trousers. Thorin was wearing that unsettling expression again, and it made Bilbo’s stomach flip flop.

“I did not come for a history lesson, but I am not here to tell you that you’re to be executed either, so you can relax. Balin is certain he has all the information he needs, but since I can’t let you take the stone and you’re still considered a criminal you will need to punished.”

“How can you tell me to relax one moment and then say that I need to be punished in another?” Bilbo scoffed.

Thorin’s lips twitched amusedly which Bilbo didn’t appreciate one bit.

“This isn’t funny!” Bilbo squawked.

“Perhaps not,” Thorin smirked. “In a few days time a trial will be held to maintain appearances, but your punishment has already been decided; until this mess is cleared up you will be serving under the crown.”

“I’ll be _your_ servant?” Bilbo said incredulously, giving the King a funny look.

“What? No, Balin will be giving you work for the duration of the sentence,” Thorin sputtered.

Of what he learned about Bilbo from the short time spent in the hobbit’s company, Thorin was certain that he wouldn’t take kindly to being someone else’s servant. He didn’t trust that Bilbo wouldn’t make his life a living nightmare either.

“And what about Nori, will he be given the same sentence?” Bilbo asked curiously.

Thorin was silent and Bilbo took that to mean that Nori didn’t get the same treatment; it made him angry.

“How could you _not_ give him the same sentence?” Bilbo scowled, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. “He is in the same situation as I am and you’re ready to just throw him in a cell. What a benevolent king you are, _Your Majesty,”_ he mocked sarcastically.

Thorin’s jaw hung loose, his mouth slightly agape as Bilbo scolded him; very few people dared to speak to him like that.

“Dwalin pointed out to me that Nori has been causing trouble for the guard, he can not be trusted with such a lenient punishment,” Thorin explained but Bilbo gave him a look that said his argument was hogwash. He felt a little guilty now that those words left his mouth; the power this fussy hobbit had over him was very bizarre.

“I will see that he is given the same sentence then,” Thorin finally amended.

Bilbo nodded agreeably and relaxed again.

“I would very much like to speak with him, if that isn’t a problem. That won’t be a problem for a King, will it?” the hobbit looked expectantly at Thorin.

Thorin’s lips pressed into a tight line. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he was thoroughly wrapped around Bilbo’s little finger.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Thorin pouted.

“Excellent!” Bilbo grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking there will probably be 2 more chapters after this one - 3 tops. Nori was suppose to show up in this one but someone wanted a history lesson instead (and they were also quite bossy).


	8. Chapter 8

For the duration of his stay in Erebor, Bilbo was given a bunk and a chest in the royal guard barrack. It was better than a cell by leagues and bounds, but the smell of sweaty dwarves was quite strong. The setup was obviously a compromise; he was close enough to keep an eye on but not _too_ close.

His belongings, confiscated when he was captured, were also returned to him when he’d been shown to his new living quarters. Bilbo was grateful that he’d finally be able to change his clothes; they were grimy and beginning to stink, though he wasn’t so sure that it wasn’t him that was smelly.

Taking a bath was an adventure in itself after he discovered that the bathhouse reserved for the barrack was _communal_ _._ Still, Bilbo was determined to have his bath though he had none of his own bathing supplies; he was reduced to pilfering a bar of soap, a scrub-brush and a towel. Bilbo ignored the awkward glances cast in his direction, throwing a few dark glares back at the repeat offenders, as he scrubbed every inch of his skin until it was pink.

Sitting for his first meal living in the barrack Bilbo figured out where he had been getting his meals during his brief stay in jail; the only exceptions being the food was fresh and the ale not so weak. His eating companions didn’t spare him a look, ignoring him completely as they conversed in their own language; it suited Bilbo just fine, he was simply content to eat his fill and enjoy the second-hand company.

Sleep didn’t come to him so quick; the snores of thirty dwarves was thunderous, but the bed was at least semi-comfortable.

In the morning, after he’d had his breakfast, Bilbo sat on his cot and read the single book he had packed for his journey while he waited for Balin. The book was one his Mother had written for him when he was a faunt; it was about a hobbit outsmarting a dragon named Smaug. Bilbo grumbled as he assessed the water damage it had received from a downpour that had lasted for days during the trip to Erebor. Of course it wasn’t at all practical taking something like this along with him but having it alleviated the homesickness he was feeling. The knot that had been twisting in his gut for a couple days began to ease a little as he carefully turned each page.

When Balin finally showed up he wasn’t alone; he had brought Nori with him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Master Baggins. I’ll be waiting for you outside when you’re both ready,” Balin offered kindly, giving both Bilbo and Nori privacy.

Nori looked no worse for wear than he had yesterday, though it looked like he had tried to fix his messy hair-and failed. He refused to look Bilbo in the eye as he stood at the end of the bunk, staring down at the floor with a blank expression. He could still feel the contempt he had for the dwarf but it wasn’t as easy to wield as it had been, leaving him at a loss for words.

Thankfully he didn’t have to speak up first.

“I’m a bastard and I’m sorry,” Nori blurted pathetically.

“Sorry for what?” Bilbo questioned tartly. He closed his book and tucked it safely under his pillow, giving the dwarf-thief his full attention.

Nori sighed deeply, his face taking on a pained expression as his eyes met Bilbo’s. “For _everything_. I didn’t think that anyone else would be dragged into this mess. The plan was going smoothly, even after you set the alarms off and I Just… I’m sorry.”

Were he a crueler person Bilbo likely would have made the dwarf stew for a bit, but the sincerity of the apology was a little heart-breaking and hobbits weren’t so cruel.

“I accept your apology,” Bilbo declared honestly, pushing himself up off the bed. “Probably would have made it too if that damned innkeeper had kept his mouth shut.”

Nori stared at Bilbo in disbelief, clearly expecting something far worse from the hobbit, before his sorrowful expression dissipated and his lips quirked into a hesitant grin, adding: “It wasn’t so much the innkeeper as it was your sloppy escape.”

Bilbo gaped at Nori; he hadn’t been _that_ sloppy. Okay, maybe he _had_ caused a lot of ruckus getting back to the inn but he wasn’t going to admit it.

“How rude!” Bilbo squawked indignantly. “I’d like to see you get past all those traps _and_ escape.”

“I bet I could do it without alarming the whole damn city too!” Nori boasted confidently.

“I highly doubt it,” Bilbo grumbled as he pinched Nori’s arm.

Having more or less repaired his friendship with Nori, Bilbo didn’t feel quite so overwhelmed by incessant negativity. The administrative and accounting work that Balin gave him, compounded by excellent conversation, helped to distract him further.

Nori was given a different job helping out in the palace kitchen while the dwarf-guard, Dwalin, watched his every move. Nori complained about it vehemently when they both crawled into their beds for the night, though Bilbo could hear the amusement in the dwarf-thief’s voice as he told Bilbo all about the grief he caused his minder. Nori also told Bilbo more about how he’d gotten himself and his brothers mixed up in the Arkenstone business; defensive runes were primarily a Longbeard craft (though there were a few rune masters amongst the other clans) so Nori hadn’t anticipated Belegost utilizing them and ended up getting caught.

Bilbo learned much about Dori and Ori; their names alone intrigued him until he listed his own family tree in his head. Dori was a very skilled weaver and Ori was working toward completing his mastery as a scholar; they weren’t rich or of noble blood but they were good dwarves and did well for themselves. Bilbo could hear the affection in Nori’s voice as he talked about them, even if Dori was a fusspot and Ori was a little sensitive about his supposed book obsession.

In turn Bilbo talked about his Mother and his Father, of the Shire and how such a respectable hobbit became a thief; he promised to show Nori his home and introduce him to Belladonna after everything was cleared up.

The day of the trial was a little daunting even though he’d already been given his punishment. No one protested Thorin’s verdict when it was announced and only a few of the more ancient looking dwarves grumbled about such a lenient punishment.

Afterward, Thorin invited Bilbo to join him for lunch.

The pleasant atmosphere, the meal and Thorin’s company were all wonderful; the King’s interest in both Bilbo and his home were unexpected, but Bilbo was just as enthusiastic about it as he had been with Nori. Eventually the topics, once more, took on a serious tone as they discussed what would be put in the letter going to the Shire. They still couldn’t risk putting too much in the letter but there would be enough to alert Gerontius of the danger; Thorin would also be sending a separate letter for Lord Elrond explaining the extent of the issue and ensuring the hobbit’s had dependable allies.

The dwarf-king carefully penned both letters, allowing Bilbo to write a short postscript and his signature at the bottom of the one bound for the Shire.

The following morning the letters were sent off by raven.

*

The days crawled by though Bilbo hardly noticed with the work he’d been given. Balin frequently praised his speedy yet meticulous accounting skills as well as his neat penmanship. When they saw a lull in their duties the old dwarf would happily indulge Bilbo’s rapt curiosity.

On the days where the lulls were greatest Bilbo would be allowed a day off and would accompany Nori to the palace kitchen; the kitchen staff were charmed by Bilbo and he didn’t have to stoop much further than a recipe exchange to gain his chili recipe. He also took great pleasure in whacking Nori’s hands with a wooden spoon when the dwarf-thief thought to throw things at Dwalin; the guard wasn’t spared when he dared to snicker.

Bilbo saw more of Kíli (and Fíli after introductions were made) and had to fight tooth and nail not to get dragged into sparring matches; it was nearly impossible to avoid target hitting competitions after Fíli and Kíli had discovered he was a good shot.

In the company of the two scamps Bilbo met Dís and her wife, Víli,the parent’s of Fíli and Kíli; they were wonderful people and Bilbo adored them. Dís readily offered up embarrassing stories revolving around her sons and her brothers; Víli, as a counter to Dís, shared all the embarrassing tales she had of her and her wife. Bilbo would definitely be teasing Thorin about his childhood memories.

It was mid autumn when Thorin’s brother and father returned from their visit to the Iron Hills. Bilbo and Frerin become fast friends much to Thorin’s very apparent irritation (and Bilbo’s infinite amusement); he expected that Frerin was purposefully trying to get under his brother’s skin. Thráin wasn’t at all what Bilbo was expecting; after Thorin had explained in detail all that had happened while they were gone, the old dwarf offered Bilbo nothing but compassion toward the troubles befalling the hobbits.

As much as he enjoyed getting to know Thorin’s family, Bilbo was enjoying his time spent in Thorin’s company the most. They ate their midday meal together and in the evening they’d end up in Thorin’s sitting room; Bilbo read quietly while Thorin dealt with unavoidable paperwork until the hobbit slyly drew him into conversation.

Winter would be on them in a few short weeks and Bilbo was festering in his ever present worries. They’d gone two and half months without news of any kind, not even from Elrond, and Bilbo was growing distant. Effort he normally put into his work was suffering at the hands of distraction; attempts to engage him in conversation were difficult and lacked his usual spirit; his time in Thorin’s rooms was spent in utter silence, staring into the flames with unfocused eyes.

Bilbo’s misery tormented Thorin.

He knew he was prickly and extremely obstinate at times, but Bilbo had a peculiar way of avoiding those aspects of his personality that made him unapproachable. He missed Bilbo.

One evening Thorin found Bilbo slouching on a sofa in his sitting room, picking at a thread that had come loose on his waistcoat. He had Balin reschedule his evening meeting and handle his paperwork so that he could genuinely spend time with Bilbo.  

Thorin remained silent as he joined Bilbo on the sofa, sitting as close as he dared. Bilbo made no attempt to greet the dwarf and the King wasn’t exactly sure what to say; he lacked the capacity to have proper conversations yet Bilbo had a knack for coaxing him into them effortlessly.

What was left to say that hadn’t already been said?

_Say the first thing that comes into your head,_ Dís had advised him the evening before but there were no words he could offer Bilbo now that would soothe him; he refused to blurt more empty assurances. Instead Thorin carefully picked up Bilbo’s hand with his own and entwined their fingers, squeezing gently.

Bilbo let out a ragged sigh and squeezed Thorin’s hand in return.

*

Bilbo found his strength in Thorin when a blizzard engulfed the region. He accompanied the King to all of his appointments, at Thorin’s request, which turned out to be beneficial in different ways to the both of them; Bilbo was a pleasant distraction from grueling meetings and Thorin kept the anxiety at bay. It was an effective temporary solution, but he still felt a tad guilty that he had abandoned his other work, even after Balin had scolded him for speaking such nonsense.

Thorin was finishing up with the last few attendees of the bi-weekly public audience when a guard sprinted down the walkway toward the throne.

“What is going on?” Thorin demanded when the guard finally stood before him.

“My King!” The guard chuffed, giving Thorin an awkward bow. “A tall man in grey robes is demanding an audience, Your Majesty. He says it’s urgent and refuses to pass on the message to anyone but you.”


	9. Chapter 9

Thorin paced impatiently in the receiving room, knowing full well Gandalf was taking his sweet time for the sake of drama. Meanwhile Bilbo fidgeted in a chair, picking apart a scone and allowing his tea to grow cold; the urgency of the announcement had him a bit on edge. 

After thirty minutes, the only door in or out of the room opened and a rather happy looking old man walked in. 

“Greetings, Your Majesty!” 

“Gandalf, you’re late!” Thorin growled, leveling a dark scowl at the old man.

“Thorin Oakenshield, a Wizard is never late! He arrives precisely when he means to, and I’ll thank you to remember that,” Gandalf huffed, leaning his weight onto his staff. “We have important matters to discuss, meanwhile I have a few friends who could use some rest and refreshment.”

Bilbo was silent, gaping up at the grey-clad man who was oddly smug as he casually irritated Thorin, not at all affected by that flower-wilting black glare the King bestowed upon him. Most important of all, there was an enigmatic familiarity that hung about the man that Bilbo just couldn’t shake. 

“Excuse me,” Bilbo peeped. He had remained invisible when Gandalf entered the room but now two sets of eyes were trained on him. “Do we…know each other?”

Gandalf leaned forward and squinted at Bilbo; a moment passed, then another before the Wizard righted himself and grinned. “Why I believe we do, though I haven’t seen you since you were just a sprout! I do hope that both Thorin and Erebor have been good to you, my friend,” he smiled, but Bilbo spotted the stern, accusatory side-glance he pinned Thorin with for a half a second.

Thorin sputtered angrily, gearing up for one of his tirades until the Wizard quelled it with a placating hand gesture. “You can howl at me all you want after we speak on the important matters at hand. Lord Elrond sends his regards, and humbly begs your pardon that he did not send word back.”

Bilbo inhaled sharply; his heart threatened to burst out of his chest with its sudden hammering. 

“The threat required immediate action and there was little time to arrange a courier for a return message, until now of course,” Gandalf explained gravely. 

“Well? Did you just show up to stoke the flame, or are you going to strike the metal?” Thorin asked impatiently.

Gandalf smiled amusedly. “Truthfully speaking, I’m afraid I don’t know all the details regarding the debacle,” he said as he stepped out of the doorway, finishing his thought before Thorin could really puff up. “But there are a few in my company that would very much like to share the story.”

In the space where Gandalf had stood another took his place.

“Mother?” Bilbo whispered faintly.

He had spent months worrying about her and now she was here, standing before him. Her hair was messy and cheeks red from the biting cold; her clothes were in the style of dwarves, thick and durable, able to weather the harsh elements; she even wore a pair of boots! 

When Bilbo hadn’t moved an inch, caught utterly by surprise as he was, Belladonna moved toward him, her smile growing impossibly wide as she reached her arms out to envelope him in a tight embrace. 

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” she whispered, pressing the side of her face against Bilbo’s. “I was so worried that those dreadful dwarves had sent you to your death.”

Bilbo sniffled, returning the hug and burying his face into his Mother’s shoulder as the tears escaped him.

While the hobbits had their moment, Thorin let himself relax, content with the knowledge that things had worked out. He sidled up next to Gandalf, who was watching the emotional reunion with a soft look. 

“Has the matter been dealt with?” Thorin murmured. 

“Apparently a rather large group of orcs and goblins settled down in the ruins of Fornost, it has been taken care of. The Rangers will be patrolling more frequently.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Thorin frowned, tilting his head to glare up at the man. 

He was glad to hear that those vermin would no longer be a threat to Bilbo’s homeland. However, he was still concerned about Belegost; he would march Erebor’s army through forests, across plains and over mountains come spring if he must.

“You’ll have to hear the other part of the story then, Thorin,” Gandalf pointed out. 

Thorin harrumphed.

The moment between Bilbo and Belladonna passed, their eyes were puffy and red, yet their smiles were joyous; Bilbo led Bella over to rejoin Gandalf and Thorin.

“Thorin, I’d like you to meet Belladonna Baggins, my Mother,” Bilbo said with a sniffle, still a tad emotional.

Bella held out her hand, meaning to shake Thorin’s hand, but the dwarf took it into both of his big paws and bowed. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet the formidable Belladonna Baggins. Bilbo has told me many great things about you,” Thorin greeted her with his kingly charm.

Bella giggled as she leaned over and whispered to Bilbo. “Oh, he’s very sweet and handsome too. This turned out better than I had hoped!” 

Bilbo turned red and hid his face behind his hands.

“Mum!” Bilbo groaned, completely mortified now thanks to his Mother. When he finally felt brave enough to drop he hands, Thorin had righted himself and was smirking in his direction. 

“I’m sure your journey has been long and tiresome. I will have rooms readied for you and your companions, as well as a feast,” Thorin declared with a wide smile, “I am very interested to hear the story, as I am sure you’re eager to hear Bilbo’s.”

Thorin called out to one of the guards posted in the corridor, sending them off with his orders shortly after. Then Balin showed up to escort Gandalf and Bella back to their associates (Bilbo promised to visit after she freshened up), leaving Thorin and Bilbo alone again.

“I think I need to be pinched, it feels like a dream!” Bilbo exhaled and rubbed a hand over his reddened cheeks. “Ouch!” he yelped suddenly, slapping a hand over his arm where Thorin had pinched him. “I didn’t mean for you to actually pinch me!”

The overwhelming good news had also uplifted Thorin’s spirits too, it seemed.

“I had to be sure,” Thorin chuckled. “Now that both your Mother and the Wizard are here we can repeal the false punishment. You would not have to stay in the barracks or continue doing Balin’s menial work.”

The barracks weren’t so bad now, and he didn’t mind the work so much; Bilbo was certain Balin wouldn’t mind the continued help, and he didn’t feel at all comfortable with leaving Nori behind. 

“I’m really glad to hear that, I really am, but I don’t think I can shove Nori to the side, not while his situation remains the same when mine has changed,” Bilbo explained with conviction. 

Thorin’s smile never waned as he placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders, using his forefingers to play with the curls that crawled down the hobbit’s neck. Bilbo shivered and lifted a hand up to cover one of Thorin’s; BIlbo silently reveled in the comfort of Thorin’s touch.

“We’ll figure it out. At the end of the day, I  _ am _ still King Under the Mountain and my word  _ is _ law,” Thorin said loftily, an arrogant grin split his face. 

Many would no doubt call him a fool for going to such lengths to make this hobbit happy, but it pleased Thorin to do so. If making Bilbo happy meant marching his army West to aid the Shire, or taking care of those Bilbo held most dear, then that’s what he would do.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, exasperated by Thorin’s ridiculousness; however, there was nothing he could do to prevent the small, pleased smile from curling the corners of his lips. 

Thorin’s expression turned thoughtful and his hand, not trapped by Bilbo’s own, slid to cup the back of the hobbit’s neck. He took a step closer to Bilbo, and then another until he was close enough to properly bring their heads together, forehead to forehead.

“I know things have not been easy for you. I especially didn’t help matters being so harsh with you in the beginning,” Thorin confessed with an amused huff. “Know that you’re welcome to stay in Erebor for as long as it pleases you. Should you return home, you will always be welcomed back to these halls, you and your mother both, with open arms.”

Thorin felt it inevitable that the hobbits would return to the Shire, now that the threat of oppression and invasion have been quashed; he couldn’t help but offer Bilbo a place in Erebor, and consequently his heart, in hopes that Bilbo would consider remaining or even returning one day. Bilbo burgling the kingdom was the best thing to ever happen to him. 

Bilbo sniffled again, his eyes were glassy with unshed tears all thanks to Thorin’s little speech. The King cut an imposing figure, but at times like these, he showed his true colors. Things truly turned out so much better than what he had been dreaming and thinking for months.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous, do you know,” Bilbo laughed as heavy, but happy, tears spilled down his face. He moved to wipe them away, but one of Thorin’s hands beat him to it as he gently intercepted fresh tears. 

“It’s been said on many occasions, but I’ve also been told I do not listen, so it changes little,” Thorin murmured as he pulled away, releasing his tender hold on Bilbo.

“I don’t know what we’ll do, but nothing can be done until spring,” Bilbo said as he patted his pockets, searching for a handkerchief. “I am surprised that they traveled to Erebor at all, considering it’s winter! Oh confound it, where did it go?”

Thorin reached for a pocket of his own, producing slip of cream colored cloth, embroidered with a red double B, and held it out to Bilbo. “Here.”

“What’s this!” Bilbo laughed, tugging the cloth out of Thorin’s hand. “Who's the thief now?”

“You dropped it! You should be thanking me for bothering to save it, and I should be insulted that you accuse me of being a thief. _ Again,” _ Thorin pouted. 

“Thank you for saving my handkerchief from certain doom, it’s greatly appreciated,” Bilbo teased, “I think though, that we’ve wasted enough time here. You should probably go see what’s what and I should go find my Mother.”

Thorin’s exaggerated sigh earned him many giggles.

 

*

 

After checking in on his Mother, Bilbo slipped down to the palace kitchens where the cooks, and Nori, were all busy preparing for the feast. Today was one of his days off from working with Balin, so he spent the rest of the remainder of the afternoon helping out with the food preparation while chatting with Nori and the rest of the staff.

When it came time for the food to be brought out, Bilbo found himself in a spacious room, primarily used for large gatherings of nobles, or so Balin had explained. He quickly realized that it was likely forethought on the advisor’s part as the attendees of the feast began to file in.

The first group to show up were Thorin’s family: Thráin, Frerin, Dís, Víli, Fíli and Kíli; then came Thorin and Gandalf, Balin and Dwalin trailed close behind; a dwarf that he hadn’t met, who introduced himself as Glóin, brought up the rear with a dwarfling in tow by the name of Gimli. 

Finally Belladonna showed up with a group of dwarves at her heels.

“Bilbo! I have some friends I’d like you to me,” she called to Bilbo, waving him over excitedly. “I wouldn’t have made it here if not for them.”

A hatted dwarf stepped forward as he approached. The dwarf’s mustache curved down around his lips, then curled upward making the ends look like fishhooks.

“Bofur, at your service!” he said with a bright smile and bow. 

Bilbo was then greeted by a rotund dwarf named Bombur, whose hair was the color of orange leaves during autumn, and brother to Bofur. 

Bifur, with his salt and pepper hair, and an axe in his noggin, rounded out the trio.

Next came Óin, Glóin’s brother, who had traveled West a handful of years ago to care for close family; his hearing seemed to be going bad, though Bofur claimed it was selective hearing.

Last of the group was a dwarf with intricately braided, silver hair and sharp eyes; at his side was a dwarf with bronze hair, in a bowl cut, accompanied by several short braids. 

“Dori, at your service Master Baggins,” the silver-haired dwarf introduced himself with a very polite bow.

“Ori, at your service,” the bronze-haired dwarf greeted shyly. 

Bilbo gaped, shocked by his incredible luck. Dori gave him a peculiar look when he didn’t properly acknowledge the introduction; Bella nudged Bilbo to get his attention.

“What? O-oh dear, I’m so sorry. You both have lovely names and I couldn’t be any happier to meet you. Oh, but this is wonderful!” Bilbo babbled excitedly, earning him weird looks from his mother and the rest of her company. “I just need to…”

Bilbo shot off toward Dwalin, nearly running right into the guard. “Dwalin, you need to go get Nori. Right this instant!” he panted, growing more excited by the second as he grasped at any place he could on Dwalin’s armor. 

“What’s all the fuss about?” Dwalin grumbled as Bilbo shook him with his excitement.

“Please, bring Nori here. Carry him if you must, but please, I need-” Bilbo interrupted himself when Thorin popped into the corner of his eye; the commotion had caught the King’s attention and he was now headed their way. 

“Thorin, please, I need a favor!”

“What’s wrong?” Thorin frowned, looking back and forth at Bilbo and Dwalin a few times. 

Bilbo released Dwalin from his clutches and properly faced Thorin. 

“I need someone to bring Nori up from the kitchens. It’s important!” Bilbo insisted, “I hadn’t thought that dwarves would be in my Mother’s company, and wouldn’t you know it, his brothers are here! Nori’s brothers are in Erebor!” Bilbo explained in an excited whisper, trying to keep his voice down as to not give the surprise away. 

Thorin was silent for a moment, gaze never leaving Bilbo’s, before he uttered: “Do as the hobbit says, Dwalin.”

Dwalin huffed and walked off through the servant’s entrance in the dining hall. Bilbo rocked on his heels impatiently as he waited for Dwalin and Nori to return. He was receiving questioning looks from everyone in the room,, and Bella was trying to coax him back over to the group. 

Five minutes later yelling could be heard through the door, then it was kicked opened, revealing Dwalin carrying a kicking and hollering Nori over his shoulder; some of the insults reddened Bilbo’s ears.

When Dwalin reached Bilbo and Thorin, he promptly dropped Nori to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“You ass, you didn’t have to drop me!” Nori yelled, picking himself up off the stone floor. 

“Nori?” the silver-haired dwarf asked, taking a few tentative steps forward; judging by the expression on the dwarf’s face, Dori was looking quite hopeful. 

Nori twisted himself around so fast in his surprise that he nearly sent himself back to the ground; his eyes grew three sizes with disbelief. There wasn’t more than a short moment of hesitation from Nori before the dwarf sprinted across the hall, slamming right into Dori; shy Ori joined the duo, hugging both of his brothers tightly as Dori and Nori squished him into the fold with them.

Bilbo stood at Thorin’s side, sniffling and wiping a few tears away as he watched the reunion. 

“I better be gettin’ something out of this, that terror bit me,” Dwalin growled at Thorin whose only response was to snicker.

“Did you consider, asking politely first might get you a little further,” Bilbo piped up on the other side. 

“I  _ was _ nice.”

 

*

 

The feast was loud, food flew every which way, there was so much happy laughter and conversation. As the party progressed, more wine and ale was consumed; Bofur did jigs in his chair, Fíli and Kíli produced instruments and encouraged the tipsy dancing. When it was time for storytelling, the table was cleared and sweets replaced the remnants of dinner.

Bilbo started with his side of the story first: about his journey to the mountain, meeting Nori and the heist; it certainly hadn’t failed to entertain. Bilbo was sure he had heard Dori scolding Nori about stealing and vulgarity, but the dwarf-thief wasn’t at all put off by it. 

Belladonna’s tale was no less exciting than Bilbo’s own.

Days after her son had departed the Shire to meet up with the caravan in Bree, that conniving noble, Álvur, had started calling on Belladonna’s hospitality at an increasing rate. It got to the point where the visits happened every day, at tea time on the dot; finally fed up with the twit, Bella absconded from Bag End to Tuckborough. She knew full well that there was little her father could have done to quell the worries of the other hobbits unless he did something, but Bella gave Gerontius a tongue lashing nonetheless; she hadn’t asked to be bothered by a snobby dwarves. 

Eventually though, Álvur had discovered where Bella had run off to, and under a guise of diplomacy, invited Bella back to Belegost to meet His Majesty, King Magni. She knew then she was in trouble, but there was little to be done about it now that there was a very large military force inside the borders of the Shire; Belladonna accompanied the dwarf back to Belegost to ensure the continued existence of hobbits.

The dwarf never let on to the real reason behind suggesting Bella become the Shire’s diplomat, but it went without saying that this dwarf and his King were up to no good, especially if they were trying to steal something from another kingdom. She kept her ears open and her eyes sharp, engaging the dwarf with pointed remarks and arching eyebrows.

The King himself was a spineless, arrogant buffoon who thought Bella some mindless bint; he tried his very best to distract her with pretty baubles, elegant clothes and fine food. If they  were trying to manipulate her, it meant they needed her for something; she had become determined to found out what her part was in this mess was. She had only been in Belegost for a few days before they’d all grown complacent enough for her to slip out, with Bombur’s help of course.

The city wasn’t safe for a lone hobbit woman, Belladonna soon found out, which led to her spraining her ankle and meeting Óin. The injury prevented her from returning to the palace as it wouldn’t be safe in her state; naturally the King was furious and demanded her return, alive, offering a hefty reward to anyone who brought her back. She needed a disguise, and with Dori’s expert help she fit right into city.

While she figured out how to get out of the city without getting caught, and getting word to Bilbo, she lived with Dori and his brother Ori. By complete accident, Bella bumped into Bombur again who was ecstatic that she was okay. Apparently, things in the palace had become tense after she’d escaped, and as a result many dwarves working there were let go due to suspicion, which left the rotund dwarf jobless. According to Bifur, a guard still employed by the crown, and oddly enough Bombur’s cousin, Belegost was going to somehow use the Arkenstone to incite a war between Erebor and the other dwarf nations, and Belladonna was to be their insurance. 

With the help of her new dwarf friends, they all managed to escape the city through a series of tunnels used by smugglers to get in and out of the kingdom undetected. Eventually the group ran into Gandalf as they gave the Shire a wide berth to avoid Magni’s soldiers stationed there. 

There was a brief, but amusing stop in Rivendell where Bofur started a food fight; they fought their way through Goblin Town and found refuge with a bear-man; they dined with the Elven-King and hiked through a raging blizzard to finally get to Erebor.

“That still doesn’t explain your hand in all of this, Wizard,” Thorin stated rather pointedly. 

“Call it a hunch,” Gandalf offered with a shrug.

Gandalf’s run-in with Bella and her company was purely by chance; he had just departed Mithlond, headed back East.

The group arrived a handful of days after Elrond had received Thorin’s missive, just as the elf-lord was to march his force to the Shire, the Wizard had learned. 

Not that he was willing to share any of this information; he had a reputation to keep, after all.

The feast wound down as the hour grew late; the new dwarves were led back to their rooms (Nori was allowed to remain with his brothers); Bilbo bade Thorin good night with a promise to share lunch with the King the next day. 

Bilbo walked with Belladonna back to her room, reserved for visiting diplomats and quite spacious, discovering that his things had been transplanted from the guard barrack to a second bedroom within the suite.

“Balin had them brought in earlier,” Bella explained.

“That was very kind of him, though I’m sure it was at Thorin’s request,” Bilbo chuckled, draping himself over the couch in the sitting room. 

Bella nudged him over and curled up on the couch beside him. “He seems like a good sort, your Thorin,” she commented nonchalantly. 

“It didn’t start out that way,” Bilbo chuckled, reminiscing on the night he had run into the King as he tried to escape. “I probably would have lost my mind if we hadn’t become friends, or had I not convinced him to be lenient with Nori.” 

“He said I-we could stay, in Erebor. If we wished,” he continued to babble.

Bella smiled when she spotted that fond smile, so similar to Bungo’s, spread across her son’s face. It was the same smile the awkward Baggins heir gave her when she had accepted his courtship. 

“And, what do you think?” she prodded subtly.

Despite the nature of the journeys they had both been forced to take, it seemed to have done both of them some of good. The death of Bungo had left Bag End stagnant and a void in the lives of both Belladonna and Bilbo; it was quite literally a breath of fresh air. 

“The Shire is our home,” Bilbo began. His words were hesitant, as though he was no longer sure if it were true. “We risked a lot to keep it safe. There’s Bag End too, and all our family.”

“You didn’t volunteer to protect it,” Bella said crossly. Neither of them had gotten a choice in the matter. “We have been wallowing in that smial since your father passed, you know. I hardly think anyone beyond my side of the family will really mind that we’re gone. Those dratted Bracegirdles would be the exception; the thieving fools give  _ honorable _ thieves like us awful reputations!” 

Bilbo gaped at Bella before the both of them dissolved into a fit of giggles. 

“Let me give you a bit of advice, my dear: home is people, not a place. Do you feel like the Shire is your home after befriending Nori and meeting Thorin?”

“I suppose it hasn’t felt like home in a long time, and I’ve missed our adventures,” Bilbo admitted.

There was no rush, he had the winter to think it over; Thorin alone was a good enough reason to seriously consider making a new life away from the Shire.

“I like that sister of his, Dís was it? Both her and Víli are a joy, and those boys of theirs are delightful.”

Assuming he survives the perilous embarrassment from shameless parents.

  
  
  
  
  


**One year later…**

 

“Damn,” Bilbo mumbled, hastily shoving his arms through his jacket as the ninth bell tolled.

He had been up late looking over some vault schematics and replying to consultation requests. 

Today was was Tuesday, which meant that if he didn’t pick up the pace, those lovely chocolate-covered, cream-filled pastry balls at the bakery would be gone by the time he made it down to the market; his mother refused to save him anything, despite him being a paying customer! 

_ Rude. _

As he gathered up the pile of schematics and letters, someone began pounding on the door. 

“What now?” Bilbo sighed, hurrying out of his study to answer the door. “Yes, I hear you! I’d very much like to keep the door on its hinges, thank you!”

How he managed to grasp the handle without dropping a single scroll or letter, he didn’t know.

“Oh, Thorin!”

“Good morning, Bilbo,” Thorin smiled as Bilbo swung the door open.

The sour mood that had shadowed him since waking up late dissipated. 

“Good morning! Is there something you needed?” he asked. Bad mood aside, he was still running late; a stolen moment with Thorin would make things  _ worse, _ as the dwarf was rather distracting.

“No, nothing is wrong. Bella sent a runner with this-” Thorin assured him, then pulled out the paper bag he’d been hiding behind his back “-and asked me to remind you not to forget about preparing a special soup for tonight.”

“Are those-”

“Bombur’s creampuffs.”

Oh, if he didn’t have to hold these papers… “What was that about soup?” Bilbo questioned, eying the bag hungrily.

“Something about a special soup and courtship,” Thorin shrugged as he observed Bilbo’s expression dancing between need and irritation. “Shall I carry your papers?”

Bilbo groaned, realizing what his Mother meant; Thorin gave him a questioning look. 

“No, it’s not a problem now. I was rushing because of  _ those _ little devils. Come on then,” Bilbo tipped his head toward the treats, then marched right back into his apartment and dumped his papers on the nearest table. 

Thorin followed him into the room, closing the door behind him, and approached Bilbo, holding the bag out to the hobbit.

_ First things first. _

Bilbo snagged the treats out of Thorin’s hands and set them on the table.

“I thought I wouldn’t get to see you until this evening,” Bilbo crooned, stepping into Thorin and wrapping his arms tightly around the dwarf’s middle; he laid his head against Thorin’s chest, sighing contentedly.

Thanks to some visiting dignitaries, their schedules fell out of sync for the day; they wouldn’t have seen each other until this evening, for the family dinner signaling the completion of their courtship. 

“One of my morning meetings was cancelled,” Thorin explained, encircling his arms around the hobbit, cuddling him close as he buried his face in Bilbo’s hair. “Though, I have a feeling your Mother and Balin had something to do with that. It was rather convenient for her to send a runner with your favorite pastry.”

“Mmmm,” BIlbo hummed, rubbing his face against Thorin.

Between dealing with Belegost and attempting to court a hobbit, it had been a tough year.

He was King and his job would never be easy, but as long as he had a burglar to steal him away, Thorin knew he would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was extremely fun to write and I hope this was as enjoyable for everyone else as it was for me. Thank you's to everyone for taking the time to read this, kudos, comment.
> 
> Extra big hugs and thank you's to:
> 
> [Vtfrpedreo](http://vtforpedro.tumblr.com/) \- who was kind enough to read through chapters before I posted them.  
> [Seashadows](http://godihatethisfreakingcat.tumblr.com/) \- for being amazing, having a birthday and mentioning thief bilbo in the first place.  
> [TeaxDragon](http://teaxdragon.tumblr.com/) \- whose art is amazing and without it the idea would have never sprung up the way it did.
> 
> The likelihood that I will write more for this verse is low but I will leave you with some parting thoughts:
> 
> \- Bilbo and Nori starting a business dealing in monetary security, with Thrain's backing (guess where the Arkenstone is hiding!). I mean, who is better qualified (besides a dragon) to handle money than two thieves?
> 
> \- Bombur and Belladonna starting up their own bakery. 
> 
> \- Bilbo and Thorin having to go through months of courting with their insufferable family.


End file.
